Breaking Things
by booksmaketheworldgoround
Summary: There was something in the way she looked at him. Nothing much, but definitely something. And in that moment, he forgot all the angry words and the hatred. All he could see were her eyes; one green, one blue, the physical representation of her mixed heritage. He had lost the battle, and his walls came crashing down.
1. Chapter 1

The rain pounded against the cracked and dusty glass that filled the window panes, however from inside the sound was barely hearable, being drowned out by the raucous laughter and shouts of eaters and (mainly) drinkers that filled the inn. The room was smoky, hot, and full to bursting, which guaranteed an acceptable degree of privacy. The wizard's sharp blue eyes watched Thorin's back as he made his way out of the door and into the rain. The dwarf reminded Gandalf of a wild animal constantly alert for danger, but the wizard did pity him for his losses. He hadn't really expected Thorin to refuse his offer, he could see the all-consuming desperation and longing for his homeland carved in the lines on his dark, untrusting face. It was the next person he had to see that he was concerned about. Heaving himself out of his chair, Gandalf the Grey pushed his way to the bar and asked for the room of Penelope Cotton. The bartender told him. "If she's even there." He said, wiping a dirty glass with an equally dirty cloth. "Ain't seen hide nor hair of her since she paid a month's worth of rent three weeks ago."  
The wizard nodded his thanks. He seriously doubted whether the bartender would have even noticed her coming and going, she had a talent for going unnoticed and he seemed far from observant. Once outside her door, he paused slightly. It had been many years since they'd last met, even by his standards. Would she be happy to see him, would she even remember him? The wizard smirked at that, he was not proud by any means, but he knew he had a talent for impressing himself in other people's memories. Raising his hand, he rapped the door, once, twice, three times. No answer. He frowned and tried again. Still nothing. Perhaps the bartender was right and he wasn't there. But there was nowhere else she would be. Hesitating only a moment, he lifted the handle and stepped into the room. It was a non - descript bedroom, exactly the same as all others in the inn. One small wooden bed was nestled in the corner, next to a large open window that looked directly onto the streets below. If it were not the middle of the night; the slopes and hills of Hobbiton, and all surrounding villages would be visible in the distance. There was not much else in the room, a small table on which was placed a small washbowl and candle, a large chair, and a wardrobe that looked as though it had seen better days. Gandalf narrowed his eyes and took everything in. There was a large (and open) pack on the floor, the covers of the bed were folded back and the candle was still burning. She had been her recently. But to have the window open on a night like tonight...did she hear a knock at the door, late at night grow suspicious and escape through the window? It seemed unlikely, even the most forgetful of travellers would remember to take their pack. He made it across the room in less than three strides and looked out of the window. As soon as he leant forwards slightly, something small and sharp was pressed against his back.

"What's this?" said a low voice, slightly tinged with amusement. "Gandalf the Grey in my bedroom? Should I be fearing for my life?"

The wizard let out a dry chuckle and twisted around. "If anyone did attempt to break in here my dear, I imagine they would instantly regret the decision."

"So, old friend." Penny said a while later, placing a mug of ale in front of him and placing herself in a chair across the small round table. They had gone downstairs to the main room and tucked themselves away in a corner, more out of habit than because of potential danger. "To what do I owe the pleasure? It's been a long time."

Gandalf looked at the woman opposite him. It had indeed been many years since he'd last clapped eyes on 'The Incomplete Child of Waymoot', as she had been known in these parts. When he'd seen her last, she had been very young, around 14 years by human standards, forced out into the world by horrendous circumstances. After her father's death, the Shire had not been a welcoming place for her and Gandalf had urged her to travel, and find a new home, with distant relatives who lived half a world away, near the Blue Mountains. In his last memory of the young girl, her pack was almost as tall as her, and fear and her natural shy disposition weighed heavily on her shoulders. But time, like it so often does, had changed Penelope and she had grown into a woman, perhaps 37 years old now. Her hair, which used to fly in wild, deep red curls around her face, were now neatly pulled back into a flattering braid, although the wizard suspected that when pulled loose "the mane", as he used to affectionately refer to it, would once again be free. A few loose strands hung by her wide, strong jaw, drawing attention to her proud nose and heavy eyebrows. However, her eyes still seemed too big for her face. It was her eyes that hinted at her complicated heritage, Gandalf thought. It was likely many felt pinned to the spot when she looked at them. The right was the colour of the sky in the middle of the heat of summer, the left the shade of the dark green grass. She had a way of seeing through people, dissecting them and almost knowing them, in a way that unnerved them. Her rosy cheeks and bright, wide smile, amply compensated for what most people considered to be a defect, however Gandalf found them charming. He had always had a soft spot for those who seemed to be at odds with the conventions of their society.

Why did they call her 'The Incomplete Child?'. Her curls, smile, and blue eye came from her Hobbit mother, whereas the colour of said curls, nose (which, it had to be said, was impressive) and green eye came from her Dwarf father. She was not what one would call beautiful; too slight for a Dwarfish beauty, too broad for a Hobbit beauty. But she attracted attention wherever she went.

"The years seem to have treated you well." The wizard remarked, noting her full figure and the healthy glow of her cheeks. "I take it your relatives were good to you?"  
Briefly, a shadow passed over the woman's face, distorting her features for a moment. "Hardly."  
"What do you mean?"  
She sighed and rubbed her eyes. "They refused to take me in. Called me a misguided mistake of my father's and slammed the door in my face."  
Gandalf mouth turned down in displeasure. "That was not what I had hoped would happen."  
Penelope let out a bitter laugh. "It was not in my list of preferred reactions either."  
"Why did you not come to me, I would have helped you."  
Her laugh was no longer bitter, but sweet, as she placed her hand (rough, he saw, evidence of hard labour) on his sleeve. "You, old friend, are not exactly the easiest person in the world to find."  
"But then what did you do?" The wizard pressed.  
"I made money anyway I could. Working on farms, selling my possessions, even begging if the occasion called for it." She replied abruptly, obviously unwilling to broach the subject. "I travelled, using money I made to buy food. I had no direction, no plan. I've been aimlessly wandering around for all these years, but oh, Gandalf, the things I've seen."  
Her eyes glazed over with nostalgia and she suddenly looked so very young again, the light from the fire smoothing out the lines that had formed between her eyebrows. Then, the moment passed and her mouth tightened.  
"But times change, and so do people."

Hours later, as the cold light of day appeared on the horizon, the two sat in Penelope's bedroom, the wizard in the chair by the window, the woman sitting on the bed, her feet tucked neatly underneath her. What was also neat was the glare on her face, currently directed at Gandalf. "Wizard, you cannot be serious. You know full well what lies in those mountains. Tell me, do you wish me to die before I am middle - aged?"  
"Penelope, you are essential to the success of this journey."  
"How? You have thirteen dwarves to cause offence and havoc wherever they go, and one overfed, sheltered, lazy Hobbit to complain and moan about the weather. What good would it do to add me to the mix? I would hardly make the situation more pleasant."  
Gandalf grunted. "I know you are not particularly fond of Dwarves or Hobbits, and you have every right, but your stubbornness ties you in an unbreakable bond with both races, God save me from it! You are half Dwarf, your father brought you up on the tales of the gold of Erebor. I was there when you on his knee and swore that you would one day see the Arkenstone for yourself. And now you are no longer that child, you are a woman. You have travelled Middle - Earth on your own, the fact that you have survived gives me some idea as to your fighting ability. You know this world like the Rangers know it. Being both half Hobbit and Dwarf you will be able to connect to both races and bring harmony to our group. You would be a valuable asset. And," the old man paused for a moment, "truth be told, I want you there for you. The company would be gloomier without your presence."  
"Gloomier? Do you jest? You have thirteen dwarves already committed, I wager there'll be fights every night." Penelope replied sharply, but with a smile on her face. "Gandalf, I'm tired of travelling, I'm tired of the constant danger, I just want a bit of time to feel normal again."  
The wizard cracked a wise old smile. "I affectionately disagree. I think travelling is in your blood now. You would not be content in a hole under the ground, no matter how comfortably furnished, nor would you be happy stuck in the deep caverns underground with your Dwarf kin. I'd wager you already feel restless in this room, restless with the desire to move on and see more."  
"Perhaps you are right. But even if that is the case, where is the motivation for me to join your quest? While the aim is certainly...admirable, I have no great desire to see a dragon, nor any great desire for treasure. I would gain nothing from it, be no help, I would be nothing more than a nuisance, wanting to stop and stare at everything. I can just as easily travel by myself if the desire takes me, I have heard the stories of Thorin Oakenshield, and the rest of his family, and I highly doubt he will accept me. I have no great role in this story, and my Dwarf heritage is obscure at best."  
"Yet again my dear Penelope, you are wrong. You know the lands like no one else, you can be our guide." Then the wizard gave a smirk that made him look far too mischievous. "But even disregarding that," he leaned forwards and placed his elbows on his knees, fixing her with his time – worn gaze. "I know you, Penelope Cotton. You crave adventure, the thrill of exploring the unexplored and discovering new wonders. Even when you were young, reading about the great sights of our world was never enough, you always wanted to see them for yourself, and I highly doubt your time travelling will have dampened that desire. You will join us because you won't be able to resist."

The words were not said unkindly, but Penelope was still unable to prevent a stubborn scowl from flitting across her face. Damn wizard knew her too well.  
"Thorin does admittedly have a…rough exterior, but he will admire your loyalty to the group, should you choose to give it. Look at you! You have travelled across Middle – Earth, on your own, facing dangers unknown, yet here you are alive and unscathed, laughing with me!"  
She looked down at her hands. "Not all scars are physical, old friend."  
The wizard tilted his head at her, but she did not meet his eye, and abruptly changed the subject  
"If I were to agree to this, ridiculous venture, and that is a big if, Gandalf! Where would I meet you, how would I know where to find you? You say you believe a Hobbit will be acceptable as the Burglar, but there are many Hobbits in Middle - Earth."  
"I shall start my search in Hobbiton." Gandalf said decisively. "I used to know someone who would have been mad for something like this. Let us hope time has not altered him. Come to Hobbiton first, and look for my sign. There you will find us." His eyes twinkled. "Does this mean you accept my offer?"  
She laughed. "Not at all, you presumptuous old coot! But if I do decide to fall victim to the insanity that seems to have claimed you, I would like to know where to find you!"  
"I like my chances." The wise old wizard twinkled at her, pulling himself out of the chair and moving towards the door, but not before planting a kiss on her forehead. "I must be going now. Day approaches and so does my journey." She tried to scowl as he winked at her, but couldn't stop the grin spreading over her face. "I feel sure we shall meet again."  
She stuck her tongue out at his retreating back. When the door closed she reached over to her pack, and pulled out her worn map of Middle Earth. Tracing a finger over the small picture of The Lonely Mountain, she let out a sigh. "You always were a hard person to turn down, old man."


	2. Chapter 2

"They will not come." Thorin said to the group at large, hunched over his bowl and not looking at any of them. "They say this quest is ours, and ours alone." There were general outcries of disappointment. The Dwarf King could not deny that he shared in their frustration. He too, had hoped for more.

"You're going on a quest?" A voice spoke at his shoulder. Thorin threw a glance at the Hobbit standing to his left, looking in on the troupe of Dwarves. Thorin was not so proud that he was unable to admit some of his faults; he knew he bad at placing trust in decisions made by others. Indeed, other than himself, his two nephews and Balin, he knew he did not fully trust anyone. It was reasonable, he argued, to be slightly wary when Gandalf suggested a _Hobbit_ as their 'burglar'. He knew little of the Halfling folk, but as far as he was aware, they were not a society of skilled thieves and burglars. The little houses, brooks and fields he had seen on his journey here further convinced him of this. But this Mr. Baggins was even less than he was hoping for. His body was soft, the fine stitching on his clothes suggested a highly luxurious and lazy lifestyle, and Thorin highly doubted the little man would be comfortable away from his decorated china and comfy armchairs. Still, Gandalf the Grey was a wise and powerful man by reputation, even if his appearance suggested otherwise, so (apart from a few initial barbs when he first saw him) Thorin had reluctantly buried his doubts deep in his chest.  
Gandalf shifted suddenly, and cleared his throat. "Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more light."  
Said Hobbit consented, and as he moved away to fetch a candle, the wizard gently placed a small piece of parchment on the table, and unfolded it. "Far to the east," he began, rising from his chair, the rough tones of his voice adding atmosphere and giving the candlelight that was flickering and dancing on the curved walls a foreboding air. "Over ridges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak."

Bilbo turned his eyes to the picture Gandalf was pointing at. A small mountain, drawn in black, with a large red dragon curved around in the air above it. "The Lonely Mountain." He said slowly, feeling the syllables weighing on his tongue.  
"Aye." Gloin said, his accent adding a strong fervour to his words. "Oin has read the portents, and the portents say, it is time."  
Thorin cared little for the superstitious ramblings of the older dwarf, despite his great respect for him, but if it convinced some of the Dwarves to stay, then he would hardly question it. However he suspected he was not alone in his feelings, as several other dwarfs sighed and shook their heads in exasperation as Gloin began to speak.  
Then Oin, the resident prophet in the group, threw in his lot. "Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain, as was foretold. When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end."  
There was movement behind him, and Thorin turned. Bilbo was staring at them all, a blank look on his face. "What beast?" The Dwarf almost felt sorry for him at that moment. The simple Hobbit clearly had no idea what was in store for him. He shot a suspicious look at Gandalf, who was studiously avoiding his gaze.  
"Oh that would be a reference to Smaug The Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age." Bofur cut in, bringing his pipe away from his mouth just long enough to speak in his deep Dwarfish brogue. "Airborne fire breather. Teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks." Bilbo paled. "Extremely fond of precious metal."  
"Yes, I know what a dragon is." He snapped.

"I'm not afraid!" The youngest member of the group, Ori, shot up from his chair in the corner. "I'm up for it. I'll give him a taste of Dwarfish iron right up his jacksy!"\

This resulted in loud cheers from the group, apart from Dori, who quickly pulled him down with a sharp reprimand. Thorin allowed himself to smile at the young dwarf's naivety. He only hoped it would be enough to keep him alive.  
Balin, always the voice of sense and reason, was the one to spoil to arrogant mood. "The path would be difficult enough with an army behind us. But we number just thirteen." He paused, obviously wondering whether to continue with his thoughts. "And not thirteen of the best, nor brightest."  
Exactly on point, the dwarves burst into furious protest. Thorin vaguely heard Nori demand to know who exactly Balin was calling dim, but then Fili silenced the group, reminding them passionately all that they were all born fighters.  
"And you forget, we have a wizard in our company!" Kili said enthusiastically. "Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time."  
All heads turned towards the wizard, who suddenly looked less than comfortable and raised his hand in protest. "Oh, well, no…I…"  
"How many then?"  
"What?"  
"How many dragons have you killed?" Repeated Dori.  
Thorin dragged his eyes over to Gandalf and let a ghost of a smile play across his features, as the wizard began to cough on his pipe and expel smoke in his discomfort. Sensing weakness, the dwarves attacked. Like a boulder dropping into a pond, another argument sprang up, dwarves flying to their feet and shouting at each other across the small table. Thorin allowed it to continue for only a few seconds before his patience wore thin, and he pounded his fist on the table, roaring at them to shut up. It was only when silence fell, that he heard the gentle knock.  
On unison, fifteen heads swung towards the door. "Not another one." Bilbo said, almost in tears. "There's no more food in the house."  
Thorin shot a suspicious glare at Gandalf, who met his eyes, and shrugged, with an awkward laugh. "Who could that be?"

_This is a bad idea, this is a very bad idea._ Penelope thought to herself, twisting her hands nervously as she paced up and down the Hobbit's small front garden. She didn't know what she was more nervous about, being back in the heart of the Shire, or the fact that on the other side of the door were thirteen dwarves. Neither species had been particularly kind to her in her life thus far, apart from her parents of course.

She didn't really know why she'd thrown her pack over her shoulder and run out of Bree last night. That damn wizard knew her too well, she smirked to herself. She'd slept rough, curled up in one of the tree branches, where she could see all of her surroundings with ease. Not that she had anything particularly to cause her worry in this part of the world, apart from perhaps some farmers, angry at finding a traveller hiding in one of their trees, but habit sent her climbing through the branches anyway. She'd walked for most of the day, taking the long way round to avoid going through Waymoot and the surrounding woods, there were too many familiar faces there, and after getting lost and losing the last light of day stuck in some godforsaken field, she had finally found the right house. The lights were on, and she could hear the raucous shouts and yells from the moment she had entered Hobbiton. As she pushed open the gate and lightly stepped up the grassy steps leading the large, round, front door, the voices became clearer. The dragon seemed to be the main topic of conversation, then she heard a thinly veiled insult about the general intelligence of the group, which was immediately met with furious outcry. Her lips quirked up in a small smile. Wherever they go, whatever they do, Dwarves will always be the same. Wanting to waste no more time, she raised her hand and knocked on door.

As Bilbo was the only one standing, it became his unfortunate job to open the door to the mystery visitor. That, of course, did not stop the rest of his guests crowding around in the entrance to his dining room. He winced as he heard boots scrape against the varnished wood of the table. That was not going to come out easily. But, to be fair, that was the least of his worries at the present moment. Bracing himself for whatever hideous being would be standing on the other side of his door, he pulled the handle and swung it open.  
"Can I help you?"  
Penelope jumped as a voice behind her spoke. She had been so absorbed in her thoughts that she hadn't noticed the door open behind her. She turned. It was a Hobbit that stood in the doorway, the bright orange light of the house casting an aura around his body. She gave him a quick, glancing look up and down. Her original guess had been right, this did indeed appear to be a Hobbit that was in the habit of enjoying the finer, cushier things in life. He was fairly young, yet there was a resistant circle of fat resolutely hanging around his lower midriff, and his chin. Regardless of that, he was not ugly, his hair framed his face in a flattering way and his eyes were a pleasant shade of blue. He didn't seem to know what to say to her, instead staring at her travel – worn appearance, and focusing (as everyone always did) on her curious mismatch of facial features. They watched each other, warily for another moment, until movement in the passage behind him caught Penelope's eye and she let out a relieved smile, moving past the stranger and into the hallway.  
"Gandalf! Thank God, I was so worried you wouldn't be here!"  
"Penelope, my dear!" Her old friend let out an indulgent smile and embraced her, bending down so his head wouldn't knock the wreath of candles hanging from the ceiling. "I am so pleased you decided to join us."  
"And who, may I ask, is this?" The deep, harsh voice made her jump. Peering around him (and feeling oddly like the little girl who used to hang onto wizard's well-worn grey robes and not let go until he told her a story), she encountered a most peculiar sight. Around the Hobbit's small kitchen table were crowded twelve…no, thirteen dwarves. She could almost feel her hackles raise as they stared at her, and a ripple of distrust run across her skin. _Dwarves…_  
It was Gandalf who chose to break the awkward silence. "Ahem. Gentlemen, may I introduce you to an old friend of mine, Penelope Cotton." he shot a glance at one of the dwarves. Penelope followed his stare and felt her stomach sink like a stone when she saw one of the company glaring at her furiously. If looks could kill, she'd be no more than a splatter on the wall. However, she refused to back down and matched his glare. It wasn't long before he looked away, obviously made uncomfortable by her eyes.  
"I was hoping she would consent to be the final member of our company." The wizard said, more to the Dwarf who had been glaring at her than anyone else.  
There was no hesitation. "No. Absolutely not."  
"Thorin…" Gandalf said warningly, but he was ignored.

Penelope looked at him with interest as he went on a verbal rampage, ranting about loyalty, secrets, trusting Gandalf to find the burglar (which he highly doubted he had succeeded at) and now attempting to bring a stranger into the group. So this was the famous Thorin Oakenshield. He had an impressive presence, she had to admit. His face, although it seemed to be permanently angry, with a deep set frown, had elements of a rough, rugged, handsomeness about it. His eyes were the brightest, clearest blue she had ever seen, although they were currently narrowed in strong distrust. She raised an eyebrow at his insults, they were certainly inventive, although far from the worse that she had ever received. She could feel Gandalf seething and realised she needed to make a stand. She had to show these dwarves that she was more than capable of handling anything they could throw at her, if she allowed the wizard to defend her against mere insults then she would never get their respect. The idea of trying to earn the respect of dwarves made her stomach turn but she swallowed her pride. The things you do for a bit of adventure, she thought bitterly. When Thorin appeared to finish his rant, she gently disentangled herself from the wizard's grip and moved forwards, so that the two of them were stood nose to nose. Or rather, nose to chin; his height advantage made her feel slightly uncomfortable, but she refused to show it. For several long moments she said nothing, simply staring at him, without allowing him to look away. Tension grew in the room then, quite without warning, surprising even herself with her strength, she slapped him. Slapped him so hard it made her hand sting. His head snapped to the side, but before he had even had time to blink she had grabbed his face, hard, and turned it towards her. Dimly, she was aware of Gandalf holding back some of the dwarves who had attempting to move towards her, no doubt highly offended by her physical assault on the 'King Under The Mountain', but she couldn't have even tried to care. She had faced much worse in her time than an angry dwarf.

"Listen to me, Thorin Oakenshield. I know about you, and what you're trying to accomplish here. You may imagine yourself as a noble hero searching to reclaim your homeland, but I have travelled these lands for longer than you know and know them better than you ever could. They are not the same as they were in the golden days of Erebor. Trolls are coming down from the mountain, Orcs and Lord knows what else are becoming freer and more confident in their exploration of Middle - Earth. You are not ready for what is out there. You resist Gandalf's choice. Why? Because I am female? Let me assure you, I am worth as much as any male here, and just as capable of protecting myself. You think me young and inexperienced? Gandalf would not have come to me if that were the case. You _need_ my knowledge of the land if you're to survive this journey, and I will not, do you hear me, _not_ tolerate anyone, King or no, talking about me in such a way." She released his chin and took a step back. "For some Godforsaken reason, I have decided to come with you and help you as best I can. Whether you want me there or not is irrelevant."  
She looked at the rest of the Dwarves. No one spoke, although all were looking at her in shock, and several with deep distrust. One, especially, who had a large bald patch on the top of his head, that was covered in tattoos, was looking at her as though he would very much like to hit her. However one dwarf with a rather impressive white beard was looking at her with interest, the interest of a scholar. She raised her eyebrow at him, and he took advantage of her attention.  
"Excuse me miss, I don't suppose…"  
"My father." She said, not unkindly. With Dwarves, she had found, the best approach was straight, and to the point. She would hardly have dared use the approach she had just used with Thorin on one of the Elven Lords, or, God forbid, Saruman, but while she knew he would not like her for it, it would gain her some measure of respect by seeing that she was a force to be reckoned with, and make him more likely to allow her to accompany him. It was a good sign that he had yet to speak. She snuck a glance at him under her eyelashes. He was looking at her thunderously. Oh. Well, perhaps he was so angry he was unable to form a coherent sentence. But, it did also mean that the Dwarves were now intrigued by her, therefore more likely to make conversation. Besides, she liked the look of the old Dwarf, he seemed kind.  
"Your father?" He was shocked, not unduly. "But that would make you…"  
"Half Dwarf." Thorin said in a low voice. Briefly, he transferred his glare onto Gandalf. "You would thrust on me some kind of half creature, whose Father disgraced his people by Bedding one of the Halfling folk?"  
"I had no idea you enjoyed being slapped so much, for here you are begging for another one." Penelope growled at him. Someone round the table hastily stifled a snort.

She glanced at Gandalf, willing him to intervene and try to reason with Thorin. He cleared his throat, and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder. "You all may as well know now. Our Penelope is one of those rare, ethereal creatures, the product of a love stronger than the rules of two separate societies. Her father was a dwarf, a blacksmith from the Blue Mountains. However, her mother was born a Hobbit, in the remote fields of Waymoot." He looked down at her like an uncle might look at his favourite niece. "They were two good friends of mine. I have watched her grow from a shy, timid child, forced out into the world by forces she did not understand and could not control, to this woman you see before you. I was not able to look after her like I should have done." Here, he fixed Thorin with an unblinking, icy stare. "I sent her to live with her Dwarf relatives after she was cast out by her Hobbit ones, assuming they would care for her and give her a home, until she was old enough to look after herself. You may distrust anyone and everyone that is not a Dwarf, Thorin son of Thrain, but I assure you, your race has given her plenty of reasons to be suspicious of you." He patted her on the shoulder. "However, her, rather different experience of life makes her an invaluable part of our company."  
"So I am to be held accountable for the bad nature of a few of my race." Grumped the heir to the Dwarf throne.  
"It is no worse than you holding all Elves accountable for the actions of few." The wizard pointed out, which earned him a furious glare.  
Thorin turned and stomped out of the dining room, into the living room across the wide, circular hall. "Leave it to me." Gandalf murmured to Penelope. Then, he turned and followed the King Under The Mountain, leaving her alone with the rest. Mainly to avoid the curious stares, she turned and faced the Hobbit.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hello." She said, almost laughing at how ridiculous she sounded. He shook her hand.  
"Bilbo Baggins." He said in answer to her questioning gaze.  
"I think I must congratulate you Mr Baggins." She said, smiling at him gently. "There are not many that could survive thirteen Dwarves and a wizard bursting unannounced into their home so late at night."  
Voices rose from the living room. Bilbo felt almost insurmountable relief at being able to converse with someone that was not a full Dwarf, or a wizard that spoke primarily in riddles, even if they didn't know each other. He leaned forwards and spoke in a low voice to her. "You have to help me, I don't know what they're doing here!"  
Penelope's eyebrows shot up. Had Gandalf not told him? Pity flooded through her. Poor Bilbo, he had no idea what was in store.  
The voices from the living room suddenly quietened. Heads turned as Gandalf ducked into the hall. He passed both Bilbo and Penelope, giving the woman a brief wink before settling back in his chair. She assumed that meant she was in.  
The Dwarf walked heavily in Gandalf's footsteps. He was about to shove his way past the two of them (quite unnecessarily, she thought, as there was plenty of room in the hall), then he stopped, and turned to face them.  
"Listen, and understand me now." He said to both of them, although completely blanking Penelope. "I cannot, and will not, guarantee safety for either of you." She nodded in understanding, while Bilbo frowned. _Penny in the air…_  
"And I will _not _be held responsible for your fate." He snapped, yet again avoiding looking at her, as if she repelled him.  
"Wait, what?" Bilbo said frantically, his head whipping around to stare with wide eyes at Gandalf.  
He was interrupted by the Dwarf with white hair. "All of this may yet be pointless. The main gates are sealed, and there is no way in, or out, of the mountain."

Penelope caught Gandalf shooting a glance at Thorin. Without responding, the Dwarf threw something onto the table. A silver key, made of heavy metal and formed in an intricate design lay there. _Dwarfish make…_From the reverent way Thorin was staring at it, she guessed it was what had caused his silence a few minutes ago." This key was given to me by Thrain." Gandalf spoke to the room at large. "To give to Thorin, when I believed he was ready."  
Penelope watched as the group spoke about a hidden door, another way into the mountain. To her, it sounded unbelievably exciting, even if some of the company was a little less than friendly. Once, when she turned to look back at Bilbo, he was still frowning, trying to figure out what Thorin had meant about his fate.  
Then, the topic turned to burglars, with a small Dwarf on the end pointing out that that was why one was needed. Bilbo then threw in his lot. "Mm, and a good one too. An expert, I'd imagine."  
"And are you?"  
He paused. "Am I what?"  
"He said he's an expert!" An elderly Dwarf with an ear trumpet said, and the table began to cheer. The Hobbit turned white as he finally realised what was going on.  
"No, no, no, no…I'm not a burglar! I've never stolen a thing in my life!"  
She couldn't help but nod a little in agreement, as did the white haired Dwarf, who implied that he was hardly burglar material.  
"Aye, the wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves." The Dwarf with the tattoos joined in. His voice was surprisingly soft, considering his rough appearance, but his eyes were cold as they travelled over the Hobbit and the Half – Child that stood in the doorway. She narrowed her eyes at him. He would soon see. They would all soon see.

Not for the first time that evening, all the Dwarf's began to argue amongst themselves, the noise quickly growing louder and louder. Then all of them, including her, shrank back a little as Gandalf flew up from his seat, snapping at them all. This was not the first time Penelope had seen Gandalf remind them all of his power, but she did not like seeing it. It was as if her friend disappeared within this dark, powerful stranger. Until Thorin turned around and stared at her, she didn't realise she had been gripping the back of his chair, her nails digging into the varnished wood. She abruptly released it, and turned his attention back to the wizard, who seemed to have regained some element of control.  
"You must trust me on this." He said to Thorin, eyes boring into his. "Regarding both of them."  
The words looked like they had to be physically pulled out of him, but the Dwarf gave his consent.  
A contract was handed down the table towards Bilbo, who by now was backing away in fright. "We have no contract for the lass." One of the Dwarves pointed out, but the wizard pulled one from the folds of his grey tunic.  
"I took the liberty of writing one up." He said, passing it to Thorin, along with a quill. Penelope thought she could detect a very faint glimmer of humour in the King's eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had come, and he showed no sign of acknowledging her presence as he passed it to the white haired Dwarf, who also signed it, and passed it to her with a smile. "Balin." He said, kindly, and she smiled at him.  
"Nice to meet you, Balin." She signed it eagerly and handed it back to him. "Well then," she said, grinning at Gandalf. "This sounds like fun!"  
He chuckled, but it wasn't loud enough to hide Thorin's grunt of disgust. She narrowed her eyes at his broad shoulders and back.  
Bilbo however, was proving more difficult to convince. Reading aloud every single word, and growing paler by the minute, he stumbled a little while speaking the word "incineration." He looked at the rest of the group, wondering perhaps, if this was all a practical joke of some kind. Any hopes of that kind were quickly dispelled when one Dwarf said cheerfully. "Oh, aye, he'll melt the flesh of your bones in the blink of an eye."  
Penelope doubted this was helping. Voices continued to speak around her, but she watched Bilbo as he tried to understand the reality of what he was being asked to take on. Then, he dropped to the floor, unconscious.  
"Very helpful, Bofur." She heard Gandalf mutter as she quickly crouched beside the Hobbit and placed a hand on his forehead.  
"He'll be alright." She told Gandalf, who had bent down on the other side of him and was attempting to pull him into an armchair by the fire. "It's just his own way of dealing with the surprise, I suppose."  
"Are you going to faint on us, lassie?" One of the dwarves said, with red hair and a red face. He smiled at her condescendingly. "There are some scary things out there."  
"The only reason I would ever faint anywhere near you is if I smelled your breath from a close distance." She snapped at him, before turning her back to their table. She would be lying if she said the laughter she heard didn't give her any satisfaction at all.

She and Gandalf looked down at the unconscious Hobbit before them. "Do you think he will come?" She asked the wizard, who sighed. "I think he will." She said decisively. "I see something in him that I also have in me; he craves adventure, though he might not know it."

"I agree." Her old friend said, leaning on his staff. "I just hope he doesn't realise it too late."  
"Don't doubt him Gandalf." The Half – Child advised him. "Hobbits have a way of surprising those around them."  
He chuckled. "You, my dear, are living proof of that."  
She laughed. "You forget, old man, I am only half Hobbit. There is more stubbornness in me than anything else, as you like to remind me."  
"I'm sure it will serve you well." He replied. "I will stay with him; you should get something to eat." 

She tried, but it seemed the Dwarves had cleared out Bilbo's entire stock. All she could find was a small pile of greens thrown carelessly back onto one of the shelves. She could have laughed. Dwarves will be Dwarves.  
Finding nothing but rooms crammed with men smoking pipes, she slipped out of the front door for a breath of fresh air. Bilbo had awakened and she could hear a snatch of the conversation between him and Gandalf as she passed them.  
"I am a Baggins, of Bag End…"  
_Titles mean little anymore, Mr Baggins, it is who you are and what you do that define you._  
It was so dark that she almost did not notice the hulking shape of Thorin Oakenshield standing near the gate. He was not doing anything, merely standing in the dark and staring up at the stars, but Penelope felt rude, like she had just walked in on an incredibly private moment. She turned to go back inside, and came face to face with Balin, who held out a steaming mug of hot liquid towards her.  
"Here you go lass," he said, pressing it gently into her fingers. "Dori made this for you, he thought you might need something to drink."  
The face of a Dwarf, Dori, she presumed, was watching from a window. So, she took a large sip and let out a contented sigh as the heat wormed its way through her, settling like a fire in the pit of her stomach. She gave Dori a large grin and mouthed a word of thanks.  
Balin, unexpectedly, did not leave. Not that she particularly minded the company, he had a calming presence and a friendly manner. They stood side by side in the quiet together for a moment, before he spoke.

"Don't let his manners bother you lass." He said quietly, guessing correctly that she was warily watching Thorin's back. "He's had it rough. He's sacrificed a great deal to get this far, it's natural to be wary of strangers appearing in front of you and announcing that they're accompanying you on a journey you have been waiting years for." She felt his shoulders shake with hidden mirth. "Especially when they slap you."  
Penelope chuckled. "Oh, I shouldn't have done that, I will apologise. It's just…" She felt awkward confiding in someone she had only just met, but plunged ahead. "I cannot discern anything about him. He seems to me to be…almost like a volcano. Dangerous and liable to explode at any unexpected time. He is ruled by whatever emotion is running through him at the time and I worry his passion for Erebor has made him blind to the dangers that will find us."  
"That is just his way," Balin said gently. "and there is nothing you or I can do about it. He changed as a result of his experiences." He paused. "I believe you both have that in common."  
She snapped her head round to stare at him. From the orange light shining from the windows and doors she could see that he was looking at her shoulder. Her cloak had slipped, exposing part of her naked shoulder to the elements. Uncomfortable with his stare, no matter how innocent, she cleared her throat and pulled up the shoulder of her dress, hiding the whip marks. Then, she checked her neck and shoulder blades, making sure those too were covered by either clothing or hair.  
"Drink your drink lass." The old Dwarf said gently, before turning and walking back into the house.

The silence was pressing. He would have heard Balin, he knew she was there. The sensible thing to do would be to go back inside the house and leave him alone to his thoughts. But no one had ever said that she was sensible. So, she took one hesitant step after another, until she and Thorin were side by side, looking over the village of Hobbiton. He stiffened slightly at her presence, but did not move away or say anything to her, which she supposed was better than nothing. She rested her elbows on the little wall and warmed her hands on the mug of hot liquid. "You know," she said carefully. "When I was a little girl, my Father made me this." From the neckline of her dress, she pulled a long, thin, leather cord. In the light of the moon, a small metal shape was visible. It was The Lonely Mountain, and curled around the base, in a dull bronze metal, was a small dragon. Thorin sniffed, which Penelope assumed was an acknowledgement that he had seen it. "We lived in the Shire, just outside Waymoot, so I never met any Dwarf relatives. Before he died, he made this to remind me who I was and the heritage of my Dwarf kin." She rubbed it until it shone. "I think it's very impressive what you're hoping for." She could feel her cheeks flush with the embarrassment of having to put her stubbornness aside for a moment and was glad for the darkness. "I…I'm sorry I slapped you. It was uncalled for." Gently, she placed the rest of her drink on the wall in front of him. "You should drink this, and stay warm."

She didn't really know what she was expecting. An apology for his behaviour, some recognition that she was worthy to join the company, or even thanks for the drink. But he did none of those. He only turned and fixed her with his glare, voice filled with venom. "I don't trust you. You may have won the confidence of the wizard, but all I can see is a spoiled, childish brat, who thinks that because she's travelled a little she can tell her betters about what to expect in life."  
He slammed his fist down on the wall, making it tremble, and sending the mug flying over it. Penelope stared up at him, terrified. He looked almost deranged as he hissed at her. "I can't go against the old man, but I guarantee you won't last a week on this journey. And don't expect any of _my _company to accept you. You aren't one of us, you have no right to be here. You aren't wanted, it would be better for everyone if you were run through by an Orc."  
He almost threw himself away from her, like he couldn't bear to be in her presence anymore, and let out a bitter laugh. "You know nothing. Absolutely nothing."  
He turned and stomped back inside, anger boiling in a pit in his stomach, so fierce he was shaking.  
Very calmly, Penelope slipped her necklace inside her shirt and took a deep breath of the cool night air. I swear by all that matters in this world, she thought, I swear that I shall never name Thorin Oakenshield a friend. If his death comes I shall not weep, nor feel sad. If his quest fails I will take what's mine and leave him behind with no regrets. It is no less than he deserves.


	4. Chapter 4

The sun was barely over the horizon when Penelope was nudged awake by Gandalf. She started, instinctively reaching for one of her knives before she remembered where she was and relaxed. "Wha…" she began, but the wizard placed a finger to his lips and beckoned to her to follow him. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the company of Dwarves creeping out of the front door. For a species known for how loud they were, it was amazing how silent it was as they lightly stepped over the wooden floor and out into the front garden. She followed them, gathering her bag and cloak in her hands and closing the round, green door behind her. It was only when they were out of the house completely, and on the main road out of Hobbiton, that she grabbed Gandalf. "What on earth was that all about?" Then she took a closer look at their group. "Wait, where's Bilbo?" Her friend suddenly seemed very interested in the trees. "Gandalf…" she said warningly.  
"Our absence may force him to a decision in our favour." Was all he said, and she rolled her eyes. Curse the wizard and his apparent inability to speak plainly. The group walked silently, yawning and stretching, to the edge of Hobbiton, where a large pack of ponies were tied up. The largest, with fur that was such a dark brown it looked black, and a long mane that covered the majority of its face, whinnied as they approach, tossed its head and stared at Penelope with a large brown eye. Without hesitation, she approached it and gently stroked its nose. It was far from the prettiest animal she had ever seen; it was wide and short, with a rough coat and a few scars littered here and there. But its eyes were gentle and she smiled as it gently nipped at her fingers. "You are just gorgeous, aren't you?" She murmured to it, completely enchanted, unaware that the rest of the Dwarves had already climbed onto their steeds.  
"That's my pony." Someone said behind her. She turned, and found herself face to face with Thorin, impatiently waiting for her to move so he could climb on.  
"My mistake." She said coldly, brushing past him, deliberately hitting his shoulder. He was like a brick wall, and she was unprepared for the rebound. She stumbled, and almost fell under the hooves of the large, black pony. At the last second her legs sprang into action and she nimbly found her footing. She raised an eyebrow at Thorin, who seemed to have stuck his arm out (on instinct rather than any desire to prevent her from scuffing her knees, she suspected) to help her. He said nothing for a brief second then something on the ground caught his eye. Bending down, he scooped it up. Her knife, one of the many she had hidden in her clothing. This one, sharply curved, with silver Elven engravings, must have slipped out of her sleeve when she knocked into him.  
"You dropped this." He said in a low voice, both of them well aware they were being stared at by the rest of the company. She looked at the knife, then at his face, then back again. The look on his face was inscrutable, he looked exactly the same as he had the previous night when he had been shouting at her. Feeling embarrassment creep up her neck, she snatched the weapon out of his hand and muttered a quiet thank you. Then, she almost ran to the back of the group where Gandalf was waiting for her with a ginger mare. By the time she had heaved herself onto the pony, Thorin was already riding away, leading the group. She was fuming, he was just so _vile! _  
As they rode, Penelope was formally introduced to all the other members of the company. Despite her natural wariness of the race as a whole, she had to admit, they were pleasant company. Nori and Dwalin were by far the least friendly out of the group; Nori she suspected because it was his natural disposition; Ori had whispered to her that he was 'the black sheep' of their family. Dwalin seemed to violently hate her because of her behaviour to Thorin, as far as she could tell, he was loyal to the King to the last, riding with him at the front of the group and speaking largely to him alone. Young Ori was sweet and timid, yet filled with the typical Dwarf overconfidence that characterised the group at large. Yet Penelope could not find it in her heart to dislike him, indeed, she enjoyed speaking with him (when he managed to get a word in edgeways; Dori tended to dominate the conversation). Although she spoke Khuzduhl fluently thanks to a scholar she had stayed with for a time many years ago, she still had little to say to Bifur, as he tended to favour war cries, and various battle stories, as a topic of conversation. Bombour said little, choosing instead to eat, but Bofur was friendly enough, a little tactless, but with an apparent big heart. He also made her laugh, which was a new experience for her. Normally Gandalf was the only one to could get more than a smile out of her. Balin, like Dwalin, rode at the front near Thorin, but often looked back to send her a smile, or to see if there was anything she needed. Fili and Kili were loud and proud, too preoccupied with attempting to push each other off their ponies to pay her much attention. But if they ever caught each other's eye she would always receive a dashing smile. Gloin and Oin kept mainly to themselves, conversing in low tones. They seemed to be the more superstitious ones of the group, and as such kept their distance, no doubt unnerved by both her heritage and her eyes. She noticed that, despite how friendly the majority of them were being, she still received plenty of curious looks. They did not bother her, she was used to them.

"This is fascinating." She murmured to Gandalf, after Bilbo had run up to them, contract firmly signed, and had been unceremoniously thrown onto a pony. She had shot him a wide grin, pleased that he had decided to join them.  
"What is, my dear?" He replied absentmindedly, eyes focused on Oin, who owed him a bag of gold now that the Hobbit had arrived.  
"They seem to be at odds with how to act around me." She said, more to herself than anyone, but the wizard heard her.  
"Well, Dwarf culture dictates that women are to be treasured, protected and hidden away from the outside world, being far too rare and precious to the men. A Dwarf woman commands great respect, and as such, so do you. Yet because you are only Half – Dwarf, and your contrasting parentage shows so clearly on your face, they are also unsure whether to treat you with suspicion; the natural Dwarf reaction to all other races."  
"The distinction is clearer in some than in others." Penelope said quietly, eyes unwillingly going to Thorin's form in the distance. A scrap of Bofur's clothing flew past her and hit Bilbo on the arm. She cracked a smile at the nauseous look on his face.  
"Thorin's reaction to you is another factor that has affected some." Gandalf said, lowering his voice as Bilbo came up beside them. "He is their rightful King, and as such they must obey him. Dwarfs such as Dwalin," he gestured to the mentioned Dwarf. "They knew him in the golden days of Erebor, they followed him into battle. If they had to pick a side, of course they would pick him over you, a stranger. Do not worry, young one." He said gently. "As Thorin's opinion of you grows, so will theirs."  
"I don't care about Thorin's opinion of me!" She snapped in reply, surprising the wizard with the venom in her voice. Conversation clearly over, she kicked her heels in, pushing her pony forward where she was level with Ori, with whom she immediately struck up a conversation about life in the Blue Mountains.

Bombour's snoring kept both Penelope and Bilbo awake that night, and as they passed each other by the camp fire, they greeted each other with a weary smile and roll of the eye. While he went off somewhere, probably to feed his pony Myrtle, with whom he had formed a close attachment, she climbed to the top of the little rocky cove that Fili and Kili had built a fire in, legs swinging over the edge, gently kicking at them when they threw little rocks at the soles of her boots. Balin joined them and the four of them sat there, looking over the dark landscape. Thorin was a way in front of them, standing impressively near the edge, eyes alert to any sign of danger. Penelope wondered when he last had a decent night's sleep. Kili stuck his head out at one point, and turned it so he was looking up at her.  
"If you're half Hobbit, why do you wear shoes?" He asked bluntly. Penelope grinned, and jumped down so she was standing in front of the two young brothers. Without answering, she pulled off one boot and showed them her foot.  
"It looks like a Hobbit foot, but in reality the sole is much softer. I can walk on any kind of grass or flat ground without difficulty, but on rocks and stony ground they are vulnerable, and in the end it just became easier to wear shoes wherever I went."  
He nodded, curiosity satisfied. She settled herself next to Fili and threw a twig on the fire. No one spoke in the comfortable silence, and Bilbo returned, clearly having fed Myrtle. As he walked past them, a shriek sounded from somewhere in the valley below them, and he paused. Penelope's ears twitched. Orc? Definitely, but not close enough to be a source of worry.  
Bilbo voiced his concern. "Orcs." Was all Kili said in reply.  
"Orcs?!" The Hobbit's voice rose an octave or two.  
"Throatcutters." Fili said, holding his pipe close to his mouth. "There'll be dozens of them out there. The Lowlands are crawling with them."  
Penelope thought that was a bit unnecessary, and frowned at them when Kili began to lay on the dramatics, deliberately frightening Bilbo. An Orc attack was nothing to joke about, and she was about to reprimand them for it, but Thorin beat her to it.  
"You think that's funny?" He said, voice dripping with contempt. "You think a night raid by Orcs is a joke?"  
Kili had the grace to look ashamed, and tried to backtrack. "We didn't mean anything by it."  
"I know you didn't." Thorin said, voice so low it was almost a growl. "You know nothing of the world." He turned his back on them again. Penelope was reluctant to agree with the Dwarf Lord, but the two young Dwarves had spoken thoughtlessly. She was however, surprised that he thought Fili and Kili also knew nothing of the world. She wondered briefly if he was so blinded by…whatever it was he had experienced that (in his mind) only he had any sort of knowledge about the 'real' world. It seemed highly supercilious and self – serving to her mind.

Balin, who Penelope was quickly beginning to realise was the peacemaker in the group, leaned on the rocks next to them and offered a few words of comfort.  
"Thorin has more cause than most to hate Orcs."  
She had expected that to be all he would say, used to the obscure ways of the Dwarfs. Instead, he launched into a tale that sent shivers down the Half – Child's spine. His words created the scene around her; she could almost see the battle, almost see Thorin standing victorious over Azog the Defiler, leading the Dwarves in a bloody triumph.  
"There is one who I could follow. There is one, I could call King."  
She had not even realised the rest of the company moving around them, but when Thorin turned, she realised that they were all gaping at him like idiots. His face seemed strangely vulnerable, for a brief moment, but then he lowered it, brought his brows together in a firm line and glared at them all. Dimly, she heard Bilbo ask about the pale Orc.  
"He slunk back into the hole whence he came." The Dwarf King said bitterly, moving through the group. "That filth died of his wounds long ago."  
Balin glanced at Gandalf, who in turn glanced at Penelope. All three of them knew it was not so.


	5. Chapter 5

It was only a few days later, during the heavy rain downpour, that she had the chance to speak to Gandalf alone again. "I lived with Radagast for a time, you know." She said conversationally, having listened in to his conversation with Bilbo.  
"Did you?!" Gandalf replied, surprise and no small amount of amusement colouring his voice. "How did you like him?"  
"Very much so." She said enthusiastically. "Saruman calls him a fool, but from what I saw he is the very opposite. He can be a fierce wizard when he chooses, yet he has a vast intelligence and a kind soul. He was kind to me, and for that I shall always respect him."  
Movement ahead caught her eye. Dwalin was saying something to Thorin, who clapped him on the back. Penelope found it hard to describe her feelings towards the Dwarf Lord. He was arrogant, rude, and her pride was still hurt from what he had said to her on the eve of their first meeting. She disliked him as much as she ever had, and the dislike increased on a daily basis, whenever he stomped past her just a little too hard, and hit her shoulder (which she was convinced he was doing on purpose, to make absolutely clear she knew of his distaste for her), or deliberately ignored her suggestions for change in direction, which had happened twice now, and left her blood boiling. He was deliberately undermining her role in the company, therefore making her seem useless. True, they had happened upon nothing dangerous yet, but that was not the point. However, since Balin had told them all the tale of his victory at Moria, she found herself giving him a (small) amount of begrudging respect. Her experiences had been bad, but she had never had to fight for her home and people the way he did. Regardless of what you think of him personally, an act like that places him in a somewhat positive light.  
Penelope was hit with a wave of foreboding when they stopped, late afternoon, to make camp. From a distance, it seemed like a perfect place to stop; surrounded by hills, with a small grey stone farmhouse, and a place to tie up the ponies. But as they drew nearer, she found herself growing more and more wary of the place. It seemed too empty. The Dwarves and Bilbo however, were more than happy to rest for the evening and prepare a meal. It was only Gandalf who seemed to share in her suspicion. She walked with him around the dilapidated stone house while Thorin barked orders at Fili and Kili.  
"A farmer and his family used to live here." He said quietly, more to himself than to her. Louder he said. "I think it would be wiser to move on."  
She nodded. "It does feel peculiar. I'll let the others know."  
"What's this?" Thorin had approached them. She stared stoically at him. "This place feels dangerous, we should leave."  
He barely even registered her presence, focusing only on Gandalf. Penelope clenched her fists in frustration. His attitude was beginning to get to her and she was ready to hit something. Preferably him.  
"We could make for the Hidden Valley." The wizard suggested, leaning on his staff.  
That was the wrong thing to say, Penelope realised when she saw the Dwarf's brows draw together.  
"I have told you," he growled, striding past the both of them so he could explore the small stone building. "I will not go near that place."  
She rolled her eyes at his back. Typical.  
Gandalf seemed to agree with her. "Why not? The Elves could help us. We could get food, rest, advice."  
"I do not need their advice." The Dwarf King replied shortly, as if the very idea of asking the Elves for advice made him sick. Which Penelope could imagine, what with the age old animosity that had existed between the two races, coupled with Thorin's own permanent state of bad temper and narrow mindedness, it probably did.  
"We have a map that we cannot read." The wizard said patiently. He reminded her of a mother dealing with a stubborn child. "Lord Elrond could help us."  
"Help?" Thorin replied, tone close to disbelief. "A dragon attacks Erebor, what help came from the Elves?"  
Penelope rolled her eyes a second time. This constant anger and distrust that he refused to let go of was grating on her nerves. In time, it would blinker his ability both as a warrior and as a leader.  
"Orcs plunder Moria," he continued, still ignoring Penelope. "They desecrate our sacred halls. The Elves looked on and did nothing. And you ask me to seek help from the very people who betrayed my grandfather, betrayed my father?"  
Gandalf cut him off, just in time, as Penelope was about to start screaming at him. "You are neither of them." She wondered how he could remain so calm in the face of his ignorance and blind hatred. "I did not give you that map and key for you to hold onto the past."  
"I did not know that they were yours to keep." Thorin shot back at him.  
The wizard sighed, shook his head at the Dwarf's attitude, and walked away. She knew now what he would do, seek solace in the peace and quiet of his own company for a few hours, then return to them. Still, she was uncomfortable with his departure, especially since she was not convinced of the safety of their camp for the night. But she watched him go, her arms folded, well aware that there was nothing she could say or do to stop him.  
Thorin remained frozen to the spot, then looked at her as if he'd only just realised she was there. She too, shook her head. "Unbelievable." She said, just loud enough for him to hear, then walked away to unpack her bag. She bristled as she heard him yell; "Come on Bombour, we're hungry." Why was he always so unaffected?

Gandalf had still not returned several hours later, as the thick blanket of night was beginning to set in, but Penelope wasn't worried. He sometimes went away for days at a time, but always returned. She had spent the majority of her time conversing with Bilbo who, she had discovered, had a great interest in medicinal herbs and their various uses. Having been extensively taught the medicinal uses of a large amount of herbs during her time in Rivendell, a large part of the evening was spent showing the Hobbit all of their basic uses, should he ever need them. She found that the more time she spent with him, the more she liked him. He had a quick wit, and a sharp eye, as well as a gentle soul, and much of the evening was filled with their spirited conversation.  
When Bilbo was asked by Bofur to take soup to Fili and Kili, who were still watching the ponies, Penelope began collecting things to make a small fire. It never hurt to keep a little fire burning throughout the night. So, she smiled her thanks at Ori, who had brought her a bowl of some kind of broth, and set about trying to start her fire from two flat stones she had found. Her frustration grew and grew as the stones refused to give her what she wanted, until she was half tempted to throw them away. Then, someone behind her spoke, making her jump and almost fall off the log she was sat on.  
"I am not gifted, in the way that others are, with the ability to easily forgive and forget."  
It was Thorin. There was no gentleness in his tone, it was as hard and sharp as it had ever been. But he was willingly speaking to her, and he even went so far as to set himself down on the log opposite her. It was dark, so dark she could barely make out his form.  
"Even with the Elves help we would have been unable to save our home." He said. She didn't know what to say, perhaps she wasn't meant to say anything. She didn't know what possessed him to come over and start sharing these thoughts with her but she was wary of breaking the spell that seemed to have fallen over the two of them. The rest of the company were a few feet away, laughing and eating like always but there was no sound near Penelope and Thorin, apart from the whistles of the wind and the Dwarf's voice. "Time has at least granted me that revelation. Victory against the beast was impossible that day. But they saw us," His tone hardened. "They saw us fleeing, carrying our injured, incapable to do anything except watch our home burn, and they just turned and walked away. That is their betrayal."  
Penelope's mind was spinning. Where had this confession come from? She opened her mouth, tried to say something, but anything she said would be inadequate. She was glad the dark shadowed both of them. He was being so painfully honest, and this stark contrast to his demeanour from the first second they met made her mouth dry.  
"Here." He said quietly. She heard the scrape of stone against stone, then a fire flickered to life on the ground in front of her, and illuminated both her face and Thorin's. His face was still a mask of stone, but there was something there. A faint glimmer in his eyes as he looked at her. She didn't know what to say, wanted to look away but couldn't. How was she supposed to react? Nothing but cold looks and hard knocks for weeks, then _this_ from nowhere.  
There was a rustle in the trees, and the moment was gone. Thorin looked away, the glimmer in his eyes lost. Maybe it had never been there in the first place. Penelope felt almost shaky in the aftermath of his intense stare. Her head snapped around as Kili and Fili suddenly came flying through the undergrowth. Thorin was up on his feet in an instant, his wall almost visibly flying up around him again. The two young Dwarfs were breathing hard, having appeared to run some distance, and could only get out snatches of words.

"Ponies…trolls…Bilbo…!"


	6. Chapter 6

The reaction was instantaneous. Penelope leapt from her seat and ran for her pack, in which was her small Elvish sword. If Thorin saw it he would not be happy, but she preferred to fight with that than the heavy Dwarfish iron the rest of them carried. Around her, the rest of the Company were also scrambling to their weapons. Fili and Kili, already armed to the teeth, crashed away through the bushes, back to where Bilbo was. Her heart was pounding. If anything happened to him…  
They all started to follow the trail left by the other two, Penelope and Bombour bringing up the rear, when a large hand swung into her vision and stopped her in her tracks.  
"No." Thorin said, stepping in front of her, blocking her way with his large frame. "You will not fight. Wait here for our return."  
"You must be joking!" She cried in disbelief, shouting at him in her desperation to get to Bilbo. "I can fight just as well as any of you, now let me pass!"  
"You are our guide, what if you get hurt?"  
"Oh, so you're actually acknowledging me as your guide now?" She retorted and Thorin shifted under her glare. "Bilbo is your burglar, what if he dies? You know what the trolls will do to him!"  
He said nothing, still standing in her way. Then with a growl of "So be it.", he turned and sprinted away, Penelope hot on his heels. The group ran through the undergrowth, towards a faint orange light. It wasn't long before the shouts and yells of the trolls reached her ears. Fili and Kili seemed to have reached the clearing already. Then, they were in the open. Penelope barely registered Kili and Bilbo lying awkwardly on the ground as she leapt over them.  
Despite being Half – Dwarf, therefore slightly larger and shorter, the Half – Child had found that she preferred the Elvish method of fighting; ducking, dodging, and using speed to her advantage. Therefore, while the Dwarves ran straight into the centre of the three trolls, hacking and slashing with savage blows, she sprinted around the outside of the group, leaping and cutting at the creature's calves, ankles, and whatever else was available to her. Once, when a troll was about to deal Dwalin a hit to the back of his head while he was preoccupied with another one of the disgusting beasts, she jumped high into the air and brought her sword down, hard, into the soft flesh of its wrist. The troll howled and twisted away. When Dwalin turned and saw what happened, she received a curt nod of thanks before he ran to Bombour's aid and left her alone.

So it continued, for how long Penelope did not know. She kept to the outside, helping whenever possible. Once, she leapt onto a barrel that Bilbo was hiding behind, jumped, rolled in mid air, and made a deep cut into one of the troll's arms, making him shriek. Then, landing smoothly on the ground, she shot a wink at Bilbo and sprinted away. It was in battle, she had discovered, that her Dwarf nature came to the foreground. The shouts and clanging of metal fuelled her adrenaline as she twisted and turned, ducking under flailing arms and legs. She grinned when, from the corner of her eye, she saw Bilbo cut the rope that bound the horses, freeing them. They were going to win! She turned, and came face to face with Nori, who let out a bark of laughter, the thrill of the fight clearly fueling his good humour. She laughed in reply, and as if on cue, the two of them spun around, stabbing at a massive grey hand as it made a grab for them.  
Then, she found herself unceremoniously pushed and shoved backwards, until she was shoulder to shoulder with the other Dwarves. They had all gathered together in a large, protective group, and for a moment she did not know why. Then, two of the trolls held up a small figure, each holding an arm and a leg.  
"Bilbo!" She shrieked, pushing forwards, sword at the ready, but Balin held her arms in a surprisingly firm grip and prevented her from moving.  
"Lay down your arms." One of them growled at the group. "Or we'll rip his off."  
Penelope knew enough about trolls to know that this was no bluff. Bilbo turned white and stared at the group, silently pleading with them all. Without hesitating, she threw her sword on the ground in front of them. But Thorin had not moved, and she knew if he did not, the others would not either. So she took a risk, and placed her hand gently on his forearm, whether he felt it, or chose to ignore her, she did not know.  
"Please." She said quietly. "He's part of the comapny."  
The reluctance, frustration and anger were all visible in his eyes, but he did as she asked and stabbed his sword into the ground. Although her common sense snapped at her that this was hardly the time or the place for such matters, and he would most likely have done it anyway; she felt flattered, as if he had just paid her a great compliment by listening to her. The rest of the company followed suit, albeit some more reluctantly than others.  
Things progressed quickly after that. Half of them were put in bags and thrown untidily on top of each other in a pile in the corner of the clearing. Penelope groaned when Bilbo's elbow made contact with her stomach. The other half were stripped of the majority of their clothes, and tied together around a massive stick, which was then hoisted into the air and slowly turned over the roaring fire.

"Hush!" She muttered to Gloin, who was shouting obscenities at the trolls. "Leave this to me."  
She began rustling about in her bag. Luckily, the trolls had been too dim-witted to think about tying her hands together, and it was almost too easy to dislodge one of the many knives she had hidden on her person and begin to cut through the heavy straw bag.  
"Bilbo!" She hissed, while the trolls argued about how best to cook them. "Create a distraction."  
The Hobbit did as he was bid, while she got to work. She had to give him credit, he played his part fantastically. Even the Dwarfs spinning above the fire had no idea what was going on. While they shouted at him, branding him a traitor and Lord knows what else, she began freeing the other Dwarves from their bags.  
"Thanks lass." Balin whispered, patting her hand once she had freed him.  
"Lie still," She hissed to them while slicing open Kili's bag. "Wait for the opportune moment."

Thorin said not a word to her as she cut open the neck of his bag, moving slowly and carefully so as to avoid attention. He merely looked at her, the way you would look at someone if you were not quite sure whose side they were on, and you needed to know more information about them before you could come to any conclusion. She sighed as she turned away from him, supposing that…whatever it was, they had shared over her campfire was now over. In a way it was preferable; they could carry on ignoring each other.  
The trolls started to fiercely argue amongst themselves, and Penelope saw Bilbo turn his head, as if something had caught his eye, but she was too busy to pay much attention.  
Then, one of the trolls, saying something about "…raw Dwarf…" reached his arm out and grabbed Bombour. Just like Penelope's plan for escape, the sack around the Dwarf fell to the ground in pieces, exposing his wide girth for the trolls to see.  
"What's going on 'ere!" The troll shrieked, Bombour still held fast in his grip as he looked down at the pieces of sack on the ground.  
Well, it's now or never, Penelope thought, and she leapt from the confines of the bag, armed to the teeth with small, sharp knives. With perfect aim, one went spinning from her hand and buried itself into the calf of the troll, who howled in pain and dropped Bombour.  
"It's got me! The little one got me!" He screamed, collapsing on the ground, making it tremble, and wrenching the knife from his leg with another howl.  
"It's a girl…" one of the others said, almost in wonder, leaving his post by the fire and stomping over to look down at her. She was slightly unnerved that none of them had lunged for her yet, but did a mock – curtsy.  
"Your intelligence is matched only by your looks, clearly."  
"Shall we eat that one too?" The one at the fire asked.  
"No…" The troll standing over her said, an ugly grin twisting his features. "I want to keep her!"  
She saw red. "Try it, scum, make my day." She snarled in reply, aiming another knife at them.

But she never got the chance. With a great yell, Gandalf appeared on top of a large rock that overlooked them all, and slammed his staff down on the rock he was standing on. With a groan that seemed to echo through the ground, it split in half, and through it shone the bright, harsh light of day. Instantaneously, the trolls began to groan and yell, raising their arms to shield their eyes, but to no avail. Sunlight seeped into the clearing, and whenever it shone onto a part of their body, the beast's grey skin would begin to harden, and freeze. Within seconds, all three of them were nothing more than large, stone figurines.  
The group began to cheer. Penelope sighed in relief and relaxed. Thank the heavens, she thought, shooting a smile at the old wizard standing above her. He always did have excellent timing. Then, she turned and saw Thorin. He was smiling. Not to her, or to anyone else, but to himself. It only lasted a minute, but it was a wide smile. It cleared his face of all anger and distrust, and he almost glowed with light. In that moment, as his true spirit shone through his thick outer shell, he was stunningly handsome, and Penelope could easily see why the Dwarfs had vowed to follow him to the ends of the Earth. She looked away, not wanting to disturb his moment.


	7. Chapter 7

"Come!" Thorin barked at the group, sometime later when they were all dressed and ready to move. The ponies had long since bolted, and in her heart Penelope mourned the absence of the easy transport.  
"There must be a cave near here." He told the group at large. "The trolls cannot have come down to the flatlands during the day. Gandalf believes we should look for it." There were general murmurs of interest throughout the group. Penelope was not really listening; the close proximity of the stone trolls was making her feel uncomfortable and all she wanted was to get away from them. "Mistress Guide." She jumped. Everyone was staring at her. It was Thorin who had spoken. "Should we find the cave or continue on our journey?"  
Her stomach twisted as she realised that he was actually asking her opinion. "Um…well, if we go out of our way just to find the cave then we could be in danger of running across an Orc pack." Her mind was racing as she pictured a map of Middle – Earth in her mind. "However, to continue on our journey would take us across the flatlands anyway, so we could run into danger anyway." She came to a decision, refusing to show how nervous she was at what the others would think of it. "I think we should look for the cave. Who knows what we may find in there, and if we do have to fight Orcs, we can use the cave as a base to fight from. So…"  
She trailed off. Thorin didn't reply for a moment, then he simply said, "A wise decision." turned, and began leading the group deeper into the forest. Penelope let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Her mind was swirling as she began following the others. How had they turned in the space of one day from two people who could not stand each other, to him asking her for advice? Her fists clenched. She had never cared what others thought of her, or the decisions she made, so why, when faced with the disapproval of this war – hardened, grumpy Dwarf, did she become a flailing pile of nerves?  
"He likes you." Someone said behind her. It was Balin, who quickened his pace so they were walking side by side. "He rarely takes someone's opinion into consideration without questioning it first, let alone following it without question."  
She smiled slightly. "That's flattering, but he already wanted to go to the cave. I believe he was just pleased that for the first time since we met I haven't disagreed with him."  
"Don't put yourself down, lass." The old Dwarf reprimanded her gently. "You've gained a great deal of respect for your actions today."

With that, he strode on ahead, leaving her to ponder his words as she walked. Perhaps he was right, she thought, as the sun rose higher in the sky and the day grew warmer. There were less suspicious glances being thrown her way by the rest of the company; Oin and Gloin now freely made conversation with her, and Dwalin even shot her the occasional nod when their eyes met. However reluctantly, Thorin had accepted her into the company, and therefore, it meant she was accepted by the others. It was admittedly, a pleasant feeling, to travel with others that you did not mind speaking to. Well Penny, she told herself, you knew you had to earn their respect. Looks like you've got it.  
It didn't take them long to find the cave; the smell preceded it by quite a distance. "Be careful what you touch!" Gandalf snapped at the group, who were coughing and holding their sleeves over their noses as they stumbled in through the entrance.  
It smelled like the very air itself was rotting. Penelope gagged and clapped her hands over her nose and mouth when the scent hit her.  
"Even Bofur's makeshift handkerchiefs are preferable to this." She muttered to Bilbo, who she liked to think would have laughed if he didn't look so green.  
Thorin, who was holding a torch, waved it in the corners of the cave, lighting up small mountains of treasure. Penelope's eyes widened. Since when did trolls place so much stock in gold coins?  
"Seems a shame to leave it lying around." Bofur said slyly, kicking a coin with his boot. "Anyone could take it."  
"Agreed." Gloin said from the opposite side of the cave, examining another small mound of treasure. "Nori. Get a shovel."  
Penelope would be lying if she said not one small part of her was tempted to take some of it for herself (for that, she placed the blame at the feet of her Dwarf father), but the Hobbit survival instinct and delicate sense of smell was stronger than her material desire, and all she wanted was to get out into fresh air.

Gandalf and Thorin were standing a way apart from the rest of the group, examining something that was decidedly not gold. As she approached them, she saw it was a pile of weaponry. "Elvish swords." She said quietly. They were impressive, no doubt about that. Thorin was clearly in agreement with her, as he picked one up and stared at it with something close to reverence. But his face darkened when the wizard told him of its origin, and he made to throw it back on the pile in disgust.  
"You could not wish for a finer blade." Her old friend told the Dwarf King sharply, making him pause with it still in his hand.  
"Will you take one?" Gandalf said to her, using his staff to knock some aside.  
"Our guide is already armed to the teeth, give her anything more and she would be more fearsome than the rest of the company put together."  
She looked at Thorin, who had a small smirk on his face. He was teasing her! She let out a small laugh.  
"I think not, did you see Ori wield his slingshot at the trolls? I do not think I shall ever be as brave as him."  
Thorin smiled at her. Not as wide as the one she had seen earlier, but it was a smile, nonetheless, and it was for her eyes only. The anger was cleared from his eyes as they shone with humour. She returned it and walked away, feeling light on her feet at the happy change in their relationship.  
"We're making a long term deposit." She heard Gloin say to Dwalin, who rolled his eyes at her as she passed him. She laughed and climbed up the slope into the fresh air. The Dwarves followed her, clearly having had enough of the smell of troll. When outside, she climbed up a small hill to get a view of the surrounding area. All seemed to be peaceful, then, as she turned, something caught her eye. A rustle in the trees, a fair distance away, but getting closer all the time. Whatever it was, it was big, moving quickly, and headed right for them.  
"Thorin!" She cried, alarmed. He ran up the hill and stood close behind her. She could feel the heat emanating off his body, and flushed as a couple of wildly inappropriate images flashed into her mind. She could have slapped herself. This was neither the time, nor the place, and since when had she ever let herself act stupid around a male anyway? Subtly, she pinced the skin on the top of her hand, forcing herself to focus on the much bigger problem that was headed right for them.  
"Something's coming!" Thorin yelled to the group at large, who immediately leapt into action, pulling weapons out and gathering together in a protective group. Thorin and Penelope leapt down to join them, and the company stood there for a moment in silence, while the rustling got louder and louder. Penelope was dimly aware of a trembling Bilbo holding a small Elvish sword, and was about to ask him if he'd ever actually held a sword before, when through the trees crashed…Radagast.

She dropped her sword almost immediately. He was insane with fury, yelling at them, calling them all liars and murderers. Then his handmade wooden sleigh, to which were attached six of his Rustabel Rabbits, came crashing to a halt and he actually became aware of his surroundings.  
"Radagast." Gandalf said in relief, striding forward to greet his friend. "Radagast the Brown." Penelope was about to follow him, when Thorin caught her arm.  
"Who is that?" He said to her in a low voice.  
"Radagast the Brown." She replied. "A wizard." He still looked unconvinced, as he watched the grey wizard pull a stick insect from the brown wizard's mouth. "He is a good man, Thorin." She said gently, and he nodded and released her.  
"Penelope Cotton!" The eccentric wizard said as she approached him, voice high and tinged with nervousness, as it always had been. "Oh my good gracious me. Haven't you grown?"  
She embraced him, noting (with some concern) that he was shaking. "Radagast, I am so pleased to see you again."  
"As am I dear girl, although I wish it could have been in happier circumstances."  
"What do you mean?" She looked at Gandalf, who also looked worried.  
"Penelope, my dear, go and have a scout around, tell us if there's anything coming." He said, in an obvious attempt to get rid of her. She folded her arms.  
"I will not. I have just as much right to know what is going on in these lands as you." She said firmly, refusing to budge.  
"Be a good girl and do as he said." Radagast absentmindedly patted her shoulder. "These matters are no business of yours."  
Penelope knew he meant it kindly, in some twisted attempt to keep her from danger, but the hot flames of anger exploded inside her stomach as she turned and stomped away from them. She was not a girl anymore, when would everyone realise they did not have to look after her and protect her? She was no trembling Hobbit maiden who had barely step foot out of her own garden, and when she was constantly treated as such, it made her fume.  
"What are they talking about?" Dori asked her as she passed him.  
"Nothing of consequence." She snapped. "I'm going to find a river where I can bathe." She yelled behind her. "I'm sick of smelling like troll, and Lord knows what else."

She had not gone more than half a mile before she found a small lake of fresh clear water, not much compared to a large bath full of hot water, but it would do for the moment. She sighed in pleasure as the cool water washed away all the dirt, sweat and grime of the past few weeks off her face. Then, with another glance around to make sure she was completely secluded, she stripped off her white tunic, black skin tight trousers made of a soft, leather – like material, boots, and underclothes before wading waist deep into the cold water. Her joints were aching, and she gasped as the cold water hit them, but the cold numbed the pain and wiped off the dirt. Quickly, she ducked her head under the water and shook it, watching as the mud from her hair floated into the water around her. She had already brought her head up out of the water and was washing her arms when she heard the twig snap behind her. She jumped and spun around, arms flying up to cover her chest. Thorin was standing there. Penelope wanted to scream and shout at him, tell him off for his nerve, but the words caught in her throat. She gave him a black stare. He was staring at her with a mixture of embarrassment and horror. It was the most uncomfortable she had ever seen the Dwarf King look, and in another circumstance she might have been amused by it. He was slightly turned away from her, she guessed he had been scouting the area for danger, found her and started to leave when he saw something that made it freeze. That was the logical reasoning but it didn't soothe her fury in any way.  
"What happened to you?" He said hoarsely. His eyes looked her up and down but it wasn't a look of lust, it was horror and perhaps a bit of fear. She felt ashamed, mortified, that someone had seen what she had tried so hard to cover up.  
"Get. Away." She snarled at him, and he moved instantly, clearly glad to be leaving. After that, the stream held no joy for her. She finished quickly and dressed, making sure her clothing was arranged so that no one could see the scars and marks that decorated her skin from the bottom of her neck, to the lower part of her back and around the lower half of her stomach. Despite having just bathed, she felt dirty. The puckered skin forever marked her as an outcast, someone who did not belong around other pure, unmarked people. She began to hide her knives in the depths of her clothing, feeling more comfortable every time one slid into place. It was only when she was tying her hair up into its usual braid that she heard the shouts and yells of the company. Something was happening. By the time she had grabbed her sword from the ground and ran back to where she had left the Dwarves, Wizards and Hobbit, the forest was empty, and she was all alone. All that was left were the trees, and one large, dead, Warg. She swore, and stabbed the already – dead beast with her sword. "Orcs." She muttered. "And they've left me. Wonderful."

She ran. She knew they would have run across the plains, so she sprinted after them, following the crushed leaves and flattened ground that showed her the direction they had run in. There were large tracks leading in the opposite direction, but from the look of it that was Radagast's sleigh, not the footsteps of the company. The trees lessoned as she ran further and further into the open. Her eyes were not as sharp as an Elf's, but she could see the company running to the East, ducking behind rocks when they could. Radagast was speeding away in the opposite direction, the Orcs hot on his trail. She wished him luck with all her heart.  
Wanting to waste no time, she began to chase the company, running so fast it felt like her feet were barely touching the ground. But the group was well in front of her; the distance between them was increasing by the second. Penelope felt desperation and panic seeping into her veins. Radagast could only distract them for so long, if she had not reached the others by the time the Orcs realised what was going on, she would be open, and vulnerable. Gandalf seemed to be leading the group in a certain direction, and she smiled when she realised where. The crafty old wizard had been planning this the whole time. She heard a shriek. One of the Warg scouts had found the Dwarves, and as a result was currently suffering from an arrow to the neck. Both it and the Orc riding it crashed to the ground, unmoving. From her point of view, that did little except draw the rest of the pack's attention to both them, and her. She swore again, and tried to increase her pace, but her breath was coming in uneven bursts now and she could feel a pain jabbing into her side.  
"Come on," she muttered, leaping behind a rock for a few seconds to catch her breath. "See me."  
She was hidden in a cove, and it offered her respite as the Orcs ran past her, completely focused on the group in front of them. She waited until they were a distance in front, before giving chase. They ran parallel to each other, the company on the right side of the plain, the Orcs on the left, quickly closing in. They were surrounded, and they stopped, grouping together, Penelope skidded to a halt, some distance behind them as the Orcs closed ranks. The Dwarves were preparing to fight, and she felt her heart wrench. There was no way they could win this, they were doomed. Then she saw Gandalf disappear then reappear. She almost laughed out loud. The clever old man knew, he'd known all along.  
Quick as a flash, the group disappeared into the rock, one by one. She clapped her hands in joy at their victory, then dropped them as she realised she was completely alone, with no chance of getting to the secret entrance without being seen.  
"Oh no."

Then, she heard a trumpet sound. The Elves had arrived. She recognised the armour of Lord Elrond, and ran down towards them, waving her arms to as to attract his attention, the safety of the others no longer in her mind. Around her, Orcs were being cut down, and she deftly leapt over several bodies in order to reach the Elf Lord. When the massacre was over, and all the Orcs dead, the group of riders immediately surrounded her in a circle. She felt an innate sense of calm come over her as Lord Elrond dismounted and removed his helmet. Here was someone she could trust. She bowed low as he approached her. "My Lord Elrond."  
She felt his hands on her shoulders, and looked up at him. He was smiling at her, looking exactly the same as he had when she had last seen him. "Penelope." They embraced. "It's been many years, friend. We heard you had escaped. Forgive me for the part I played in leading you that way."  
She shook her head as they parted, but kept her arms on his. "It was in no way your fault. I have never, nor will I ever, place any blame at your door for what happened."  
He nodded and wrapped an arm around her, leading her back to his horse. "Was that thirteen Dwarves I saw disappearing into our tunnels?"  
"And a Hobbit." She told him. "Gandalf is leading them to Rivendell. We need your help."  
"We? You are with these Dwarves?" His eyes sparkled with humour. "I seem to remember that you were never very fond of the mining race."  
She smiled. "I think I may have found some exceptions to my rule. Not that I would ever tell them that."  
"A weighty compliment coming from one such as yourself." He twinkled at her. "I assume you will be joining us in our return home, then?" He knelt down and offered her his hand to use as a vault. She accepted it, with thanks, and hoisted herself up onto the back of the Elf's horse. He swung up behind her, and together they, and the other Elf warriors, rode back to Rivendell. She had to admit, she would be relieved to see Th…them all again.


	8. Chapter 8

By the time they reached Rivendell, the sun was beginning to set. As it had when she first came here, the beauty of Lord Elrond's residence took her breath away. It was otherworldly. Penelope wondered what Bilbo would think of a place like this, she imagined the little Hobbit would think he had stepped into a dream. The group of horses paused momentarily at the gate to Rivendell, and Penelope dismounted. There was an Elven handmaiden waiting by the wrought iron gates. She curtsied to Lord Elrond.  
"Thirteen Dwarves, a Wizard and a Halfling have just arrived in our square." She told the Elf Lord, seemingly unruffled by the strange turn of events. "We had heard the Half – Child was accompanying them. I thought I would come and meet you and bring her to her old room." She looked at Penelope and shot her a small smile. "A hot bath, and some fresh clothes before you re-join your friends might be in order."  
Penelope gave her a wide grin. "I cannot tell you how happy that would make me."  
Lord Elrond gave her a nod. "I will see you at dinner."  
He and the other Elves rode off to meet the Dwarfs, with a trumpet blast announcing their arrival. Penelope turned to the female Elf, who gave her a kind smile. "Can you remember the way to your room, or do you require assistance?"  
"Please, lead on." Penelope told her, moving so the She – Elf could take the lead. She felt at peace now that she was within the walls of the Elf domain, albeit being tired to her soul and sore. There was an aura of quiet beauty that surrounded the whole place, and it seeped into her very soul. She knew that, due to her Dwarf heritage, some small part of her would always remain slightly distrustful of the Elvish race as a whole, but Lord Elrond, and all the Elves who lived with him were never anything less than friendly and welcoming to her, and she could not, and would not, allow the prejudices of her people to blinker her view of the world.  
"Here we are." The She – Elf said softly, pushing open the door, which was a deep mahogany wood, with intricate swirling patterns carved in a lighter wood on top. "I think you remember this room."  
She sighed in happiness. "Yes. Yes I do."

The room was simply decorated, with one large white bed in the centre of the room, a table, two chairs and a bookcase. By far the most impressive thing in the room was the sight from the windows; a view of all of Rivendell, illuminated by the orange light of the sunset, which turned the water flowing over the mountains into droplets of golden light. But since her home in Waymoot this was the closest she had had to a constant comfort, and the joy she felt at being here again, no matter how brief this visit would be, was indescribable.  
There was a trunk by the bookcase, and Penelope cried out in delight when she lifted the lid. "My dresses!"  
"My Lord Elrond refused to let anyone else use this room, and made us keep it in a perfect condition, on the off chance you returned." The She – Elf said, her smile apparent in her voice. "Your dresses have been regularly washed and kept in a satisfactory state, although I think you may have outgrown them slightly by now."  
Penelope held one up to the light. It had been her favourite when she was younger. A deep green dress, almost the same shade as one of her eyes, made in the Hobbit style, with black lace edging the bottom of the skirt, the neckline, and the sleeves. A rose, sewn in a deep, black thread, covered the stomach. Two petals were frozen in place, having fallen off the flower, but not yet having reached the ground. Far too grand to work in the fields of the Shire, but too plain to be acceptable at the Dwarvish court. The perfect dress for her.  
"It was made by my mother." She said, more to herself than to the Elf standing by the door. "She said the rose was a symbol of our family; she and my father were the petals. Although they may fall away, out of sight, their love will surround me constantly like the petals of the rose." She sniffed and rubbed her wet cheeks, laughing at herself. "It's a silly story, but it gives me some comfort."

"We Elves place much store by stories such as these." The graceful woman replied gently, placing a pale, long – fingered hand on Penelope's shoulder. "It is a beautiful tale to hold close to your heart."  
Penelope smiled up at the She – Elf. "I will run you a bath." She said, and moved away.  
An hour later, after Penelope had soaked luxuriously in the steaming hot water of the bath and had her hair washed in a soapy liquid that made it smell like vanilla, the She – Elf, who she had now discovered was called Ayda, sat her down in front of a mirror and began to style her hair.  
"I usually wear it up and out of my face." She told Ayda, face flushed pink from the bath. The Elf shot her a sceptical look, similar to one an older sister might shoot her younger sibling.  
"When was the last time you were able to relax and get treated nicely like this?" She replied. The Half – Child thought, but could not remember.  
"There." Ayda said, a few minutes later. "What do you think?"

Penelope looked at her reflection, trying to see if the hardened, cynical woman was visible in the stranger that stood in front of her. Ayda had forced her into the green dress, refusing to allow her to redress in her dirty, torn tunic and trousers. It was a tight fit, no doubt about that. The dress, which was meant to finish at her ankles and wrists, now stopped just below her elbows and knees. The neckline dipped low, almost scandalously, and showed a lot more of her cleavage than she was used to. Her hair floated down in red curls around her face, and her eyes glowed in the candlelight. The frown lines which had seemed almost permanently carved into her face, had disappeared and her eyes glimmered, bright, green and blue.  
"I look so young." She said quietly.  
"You look carefree." The Elf corrected her. "The Dwarves will be in awe."  
Penelope let out a nervous laugh. "Why on earth would they care what I look like?"  
A look that was almost mischievous passed over the Ayda's face. "I do not know, perhaps you should ask the Dwarves that were almost mad with concern for your wellbeing when they arrived in our city."  
She stared at Ayda's reflection in the mirror. "What are you talking about?"  
Ayda shrugged gracefully, a glint of humour still lingering in her eyes. "All I am saying is, I would not be surprised if the Elf who greeted your company will still have bruises a month from now, judging by the forceful way Thorin Oakenshield grabbed him, demanding they go out and search for you."

Penelope struggled to speak for a moment. The fact that any of the Dwarves, let alone Thorin, had been so concerned for her safety sent warm flutters of…something…into the pit of her stomach. Was this what it was like to know that others cared for you? She hadn't felt like this in a long time.  
"Are you ready to leave?" The She- Elf asked, opening her room door, and standing to the side to allow Penelope to leave.  
She took a deep breath. "It's so stupid; I'm nervous to see them again!"  
"They have seen you as a traveller, and as a warrior; tonight they will see you as a woman." Ayda said wisely.  
She laughed in reply. "Goodness, you make it sound so formal. It's only dinner. But yes, I suppose I am ready."

She followed the Elf down the twisting corridors of the Elvish building, marvelling the whole time at the magnificence of it all. The beauty of the city was so magnanimous, it demanded admiration. Ayda turned another corner, and held an arm out to stop Penelope in her tracks. All the Dwarves were seated around a low table, warily prodding at the green leaves and salad that the Elves preferred instead of meat and bread. She felt a wave of relief to see that they were all alive and unharmed, and had to press a hand to her mouth to stop laughter when Ori threw a green leaf onto his plate in disgust. Bilbo was sat next to Balin, with his back to Penelope, and she smiled when she saw the small Elvish blade he clutched firmly in his hand. To her right, seated on a slightly higher table, were Gandalf, Lord Elrond, and Thorin, deep in discussion. By the way Gandalf looked at Thorin, who reluctantly passed his sword to the Elf Lord; Penelope guessed they were discussing the mountain trolls arrival from the north.  
"Wait here." Ayda said quietly, before leaving Penelope standing in the shadows of the doorway and moving forwards towards Lord Elrond, who looked up, met her eyes briefly and nodded. She then moved to a corner, where a small group of musicians were playing a haunting melody, and took a seat. Lord Elrond got to his feet.  
"Before we darken the evening with our talk of the foul things creeping into our land," he said to the table. "I have a gift for you."  
Penelope bristled slighty, not appreciating being referred to as 'a gift', but walked into the light when he gestured to her. "Um…good evening, everyone."  
The table was upturned as the twelve Dwarfs and Bilbo shot to their feet. "You're alive!" The Hobbit cried, running towards her. She embraced him.  
"As far as I can tell, yes!" She laughed, squeezing him tightly.  
"What happened to you?" He asked, while Balin wrapped her in his arms.  
"Well, after you all abandoned me," She said accusingly, taking a small amount of joy from the guilty looks on their faces. "I chased you all across the flatlands, until you disappeared, and the Elves found me."  
"Did the Orcs see you?" Dwalin asked, patting her on the shoulder.  
"I don't think so." Penelope said, voice muffled as she was currently face first in Gandalf's robes. The wizard had grabbed her and was refusing to relinquish his hold. "Let me go, you old coot!" She laughed, pushing him off. His eyes were damp as he gently held her face.

"Oh, my dear," He said softly. "My dear, my dear." He seemed almost unable to speak. She stood on the tips of her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.  
"What the hell are you wearin'?!" Bofur exclaimed, grabbing a fistful of her skirt and examining the fabric.  
"It's a dress you moron!" She laughed, pulling it out of his hands. "Do I look that shocking?"  
"You look lovely." Ori said quietly, and she winked at him.  
"Thank you, Ori."  
"You look real lovely." Kili said, eyes trained on her chest. Penelope let out an awkward laugh and stepped further to Gandalf.  
"Thanks, I suppose."  
"You survived then." A gruff voice behind her said. She turned to stare at Thorin  
"As you see."  
He looked very much like he had the first evening they had met, and for a moment she felt slightly worried. Had she done something wrong? Was this a return to the old relationship they used to share, with hated glances and ignorant shoves. She had thought they were making some progress. She had thought…  
But then he relaxed, and grinned. It shone light on her and she felt buoyant under the weight of his smile. "You always surprise me, Penelope Cotton."  
Then, and she was never quite sure what exactly pushed her to this; maybe the relief that she was alive, the surprising overwhelming happiness of seeing them again, or maybe she was just overtired, but she stepped forwards and threw her arms around the Dwarf's neck. He smelled like man, earth and sweat, and his hair and beard tickled her cheek. Thorin stood frozen for a moment, arms still at his side, then he suddenly relaxed, and his arms tightened around her.  
It felt good. Ridiculously good. She felt warm and safe. Penelope had never been the most delicate of females, a woman being able to fight, and travel on her own was never thought of as needing to be 'looked after' or 'protected', that was how she liked it. But when Thorin wrapped his arms around her, held her close against him, she felt flush with safety, and it threw her completely off balance. It was only when Bilbo cleared his throat that she realised how long they had been standing there, holding each other tight.  
"Right. Well then." She said, stepping away from the Dwarf King, and raising her hands to her hot cheeks. "Ahem." She refused to let herself look at Thorin.

"Will you join us?" Lord Elrond asked her, gesturing to a seat next to Gandalf. The Dwarves all returned to their seats, and Penelope hoisted herself up onto her chair, feet dangling a fair distance away from the ground. She jabbed at a lettuce leaf. Although she was more tolerant of salad and green food than Dwarves in general, given the choice she would still prefer meat and bread. As she picked at her plate, the three males continued their conversation.  
"How did you come by these swords?" Elrond asked the wizard, pinning him with a direct stare.  
"We found them in a troll hoard on the Great East Road." Gandalf replied. "Before we were ambushed by Orcs."  
"And what were you doing on the Great East Road?" The Elven Lord asked after a small pause, amusement tinging his voice. There was an awkward silence, in which no one said anything. "It would be better to show you later, in privacy." Gandalf said in a low voice.  
Thorin's eyes shot upwards. He, clearly, did not want the Wizard telling the Elf the aim of their journey. He opened his mouth, looking ready to say something that would probably get them thrown out of Rivendell, so she stretched her foot out under the table, and sent him a kick to the ankle. He glared at her and she narrowed her eyes at him, silently imploring him to remain silent. To his credit, he said nothing, and the rest of the meal passed in tense silence, broken only when Bofur leapt on top of a small plinth (that looked far too old and precious to withstand such treatment) and began to sing a Dwarvish drinking song. Penelope clapped her hands in time to the beat, and laughed and threw some of her food at him when he was done, before catching Lord Elrond staring at her, and folding her hands demurely in her lap.

After the meal was over, and early evening was beginning to creep across the sky, Penelope found Bilbo leaning over a balcony, and gazing at the buildings around him with a sort of glazed wonderment. She stood next to him, and rested her arms on the railings.  
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" She said softly.  
"It's indescribable." He replied, awe clear in his voice.  
She pointed at a little house in the distance, still impossibly grand and beautiful, but secluded, surrounded by lush green trees and hills. "That was always my favourite house. I used to wonder who lived there, and why they would choose to live so separate to everyone else."  
"You did." He pointed out.  
She looked down at him. He was smiling kindly at her. "I'm so happy you're alright."  
Wrapping an affectionate arm around him, Penelope grinned at the skyline. "Me too, Bilbo, me too."  
The sky was heavy with darkness when Penelope's door knocked. She frowned, wondering who would come to see her now. She was hardly dressed for company; having had no nightgown she had been given a replacement which she assumed belonged to one of the handmaidens. It folded around her in great white swathes of fabric, which trailed behind her when she walked, and the neckline was so large it had slipped over her shoulders, leaving both them and part of her arms bare.  
The knock sounded again throughout the room, and she grabbed a small shawl Ayda had left for her on a chair, wrapped it securely around her shoulders, and pulled the door open.  
"Come with me." Thorin said quietly.


	9. Chapter 9

It was cold that night; the biting wind disrupting the peace of Elven residence. Penelope shivered slightly and pulled her shawl tight around her. She felt naked without her weapons and wished she had brought at least one, for her own feeling of security if nothing else. She stood next to Bilbo; the two of them were almost hidden in the shadows, while further out in the moonlight stood Gandalf, Balin, Elrond and Thorin. The Half – Child was not sure what she had expected when Thorin Oakenshield knocked on her door, but this was not it. He had grabbed her arm and pulled her along behind him, barely registering her less – than – appropriate clothing, or her occasional shivers as the wind cut into her. He had not said a single word to her; had not offered a single word of explanation, merely left her standing next to Bilbo and strode forwards to meet the others. Penelope did not appreciate being dragged from her bed, and shot a foul glance at the Dwarf's back as he walked away from her. He was being particularly difficult tonight. After their oddly affectionate moment when she first arrived he had returned to essentially ignoring her presence. It felt less cold and more brusque. She was now being treated more like Bilbo was, like a less able companion instead of an unwelcome addition. It still grated on her that (in Thorin's mind, or so it seemed to her) she was still considered less skilled when they had seen her fight and defend herself, but at least he didn't seem to hate her anymore. However, since their arrival in Rivendell, he had been nothing but unpleasant to the Elves; a particular insult considering they had welcomed him and the company with open arms, and were now offering to help with the next stage of their journey. She rolled her eyes in frustration at his temper, and considered sneaking back to bed.

"Our business is no concern of Elves." Thorin spat suddenly, voice carrying on the wind towards her. She had to admire Lord Elrond's composure; he merely acted like Thorin had not spoken. Gandalf, however, looked ready to thump the Dwarf for his behaviour, and Penelope was inclined to join him. No one, especially Thorin, could afford to antagonise those who offered him food and shelter.  
Gandalf's thoughts seemed to parallel her own. "For goodness sake, Thorin, show him the map." He said exasperatedly.  
"It is the legacy of my people." The Dwarf replied in a low growl, his Dwarvish accent becoming stronger as his anger began to show. "It is mine to protect." His eyes narrowed at the Elf Lord standing opposite him. "As are its secrets."  
Penelope folded her arms over her chest, and moved a little to keep warm. "Excuse me," She said, making everyone's heads turn towards her. "But I'd like to get back to the bed I was dragged from, so unless Thorin starts being a little more pleasant, I'll be leaving."  
"Go then." Thorin replied, turning away from her. "You're not needed here."  
"You are the one who brought me here!" She shrieked at him. Bilbo put a restraining hand on her arm to stop her marching forwards.  
"That's enough, you two!" Gandalf interrupted, having spent enough time travelling with them both to recognise the signs of a full – blown argument on the horizon. "Penelope, you can survive a little longer in the cold, I want you here. I never would have expected such childish behaviour from you. And you," He rounded on the Thorin. "You stand here in the presence of one of the few left in Middle – Earth that can read that map. Show it to Lord Elrond!" His voice echoed impressively around the stone arches.

Penelope, red – faced with shame and suitably chastised, shrank back into the shadows. No one spoke as Elrond watched Thorin, waiting for his reaction. Without speaking, or taking his eyes off the Elf's face, the Dwarf began to reach into his clothes for the map. It was Balin who spoke, surprising Penelope with his outburst.  
"Thorin, no!"  
She raised her eyebrows. She had assumed Balin would be glad of any extra help. She sighed. It was likely his instinctive distrust of the Elves ran deeper than his general good nature.  
He was ignored, and Thorin reluctantly handed the map over to Lord Elrond. The Elf glanced at it for a brief moment before raising his eyes in surprise.  
"Erebor?" His eyes grew slightly suspicious. "What is your interest in this map?"  
Bilbo caught Penelope's eye, and the two of them looked shiftily away from each other. Thorin opened his mouth, but the wizard got there first.  
"It's mainly academic." He smiled at Lord Elrond. Penelope raised her eyebrows in surprise. She had thought the two of them were old friends, so why was Gandalf lying to him?  
"You still read Ancient Dwarvish, do you not?" He asked the Elf, who was studying the map intently and wandering away from them.

Elrond then uttered some words in a language Penelope did not understand. Gandalf however, did, and a look of realisation passed across his aged features. "Moon runes." He said quietly. "Of course." He turned to Bilbo and Penelope. "An easy thing to miss." She smirked at him.  
"Well, in this case it is true. Moon runes can only be read by the light of a moon with the same shape and season as the day on which they were written." Elrond said, turning the parchment over and over in his hands.  
"Can you read them?" Thorin asked bluntly.  
As an answer, the Elven Lord took the small group to one of the highest points in Rivendell; a large, rocky cove, over which four individual waterfalls fell. The sight was jaw – dropping and the noise was deafening. As he led them to a small plinth at the very edge of the rock, he spoke, voice quiet, but full of authority and age, easily carrying over the sound of crashing water.  
"These runes were written by the light of a crescent moon, nearly 200 years ago." He flattened the map against the smooth stone of the plinth. "It would seem you were meant to come to Rivendell. Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield." He said to the Dwarf.  
"That will please Oin and Gloin." Penelope muttered to Bilbo.  
At the moment, a crescent moon appeared from behind the black clouds. The silvery, mystical light shone through the waterfalls, illuminating the six of them that stood there. The plinth almost seemed to take the light and store it within, reflecting it to the outside world. It shone with a silvery, otherworldly glow, and as they watched, small silver words appeared in the bottom corner of the map. Penelope felt her mouth drop open. This was Dwarvish magic, ironically only brought to the surface by the aid of an Elf.

Lord Elrond began to recite the words written on the map in his deep, calming voice.  
"Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks and the setting sun, with the last light of Durin's Day, will shine upon the keyhole."  
"Durin's Day?" Bilbo said, frowning.  
"Start of the Dwarf New Year." Penelope said absent mindedly, attention completely taken by the map in Elrond's hands.  
"This is old news." Thorin said shortly, arms folded across his chest as he turned to face them all. "Summer is passing and Durin's day will soon be upon us."  
Penelope thought she heard desperation in his voice as he spoke to Balin, who stepped forwards in an attempt to comfort him.  
"We still have time." The older Dwarf said reassuringly.  
"Time for what?" Bilbo said.  
"Yes, I would like some clarification too, please."  
"To find the entrance." Balin said, like it was obvious. "We have to be standing in exactly the right spot, at exactly the right time. Then, and only then, can the door be opened."  
He said those words with such power, such surety, that Penelope felt like applauding him.  
"So this is your purpose?" Elrond said, abruptly reminding them all of his presence. "To enter the mountain?"  
"What of it?" Thorin said in a low voice, guard immediately raising in the presence of someone he knew did not agree with his choice.  
"There are some who would not deem it wise." Lord Elrond replied, handing the map back to Thorin. His voice was calm, but the warning was clear in the way he matched Thorin's steely blue gaze.  
Gandalf frowned and asked him to explain himself. Penelope was also confused. She knew that many would not condone this quest, knowing full well what lay ahead, but Elrond made it sound like there was someone specific out to stop them.  
"You are not the only guardian to stand watch over Middle – Earth." Was all the Elf said, before turning and leaving the rocky cove in which they all stood.  
She deliberated for a moment, then ran after him. "My Lord Elrond!"  
The Elf paused, back to her. He knew, or at least suspected, what she would say.

She stopped, and looked up at him. "You must tell me. It has been weighing on my mind since we came here. You and I both know where this company is headed now. I fear…" She swallowed, embarrassed that her eyes had started to water a little. "I fear that if we do find them, I will become paralysed with fear and be unable to help my friends. I don't want to let them down."  
He gave her a small smile, and placed his hands on her shoulders. "You, my dear Half – Child, have always had the strength of a Dwarf twice your width, and an Elf thrice your height." He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her head upwards, much like her father used to. "I remember when you first arrived in Rivendell; I had never before seen such strength and power as you displayed, and that has only grown since our last meeting. I know that when the times comes, you will know what to do."  
"I am so scared of what lies ahead." She whispered.  
"Aren't we all?" The Elven Lord replied. "But I know no one better prepared for it than you." He leant down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You must get some rest. You have a long journey ahead of you."  
Penelope threw her arms around his waist, feeling the crushed velvet press against her face. "Thank you, _linyenwa nildo_."  
He walked her back to her room, and bid her goodnight, with the promise that they would meet again. Watching him walk away Penelope was not so sure. She knew Thorin would want to leave as soon as possible now that he had the information he wanted; she expected him at her door soon to drag her away. Unless, of course, he decided to leave her here. She wasn't sure which of those she preferred.

Someone had placed her travelling clothes on the bed, freshly washed, all marks of the road gone. She fingered the folds of her nightgown wistfully. It was one of the most luxurious pieces of clothing she had ever worn, and was likely to ever wear again. She wished she could take it with her, but somewhere in Rivendell a She – Elf was missing her nightgown. Penelope smirked at the image. She did, however, stuff three of her old dresses into her pack. The dark green one, one a deep navy, and one a periwinkle grey. After they had left Rivendell, these pieces of fabric would be her closest reminder to home. Wherever she was, and whatever she would be doing after this quest ended, it would be some small comfort to have them with her.  
Bag packed and placed by the door, Penelope pulled back the thick blanket on the bed, sighing at its obvious luxury. Outside the window, she could hear the Dwarves shouting and laughing. They had declined the offer of rooms, instead choosing to make camp outside in the night air. Suddenly, there was a great crash, and the laughter increased tenfold. She allowed herself a smile. She liked them, she could not deny it. They had big hearts, and fought fiercely to protect their own. Their unwavering loyalty to Thorin meant she respected them, even if at times she did not understand their loyalty to one such as him. No, she decided, climbing into the bed, and relaxing against the pillows. All in all, they were not so bad.

There was another knock at the door, and Penelope groaned, her hopes of a dreamless sleep, even if it was only for a few short hours, disappearing in a puff of smoke. "I'll be ready to leave in a moment." She called. "Let me get dressed, and I'll meet you at the entrance in a few minutes."  
There was no reply for a few seconds, then another knock resounded throughout the bedroom, short and sharp. She frowned and swung her legs over the bed. "Thorin, did you not hear me?" She snapped, tying the shawl in a tight knot around her neck, and striding over to the door. "I said, I'll be ready to leave in a minute."  
She pulled it open. His frame filled the doorway; impossibly, he seemed to have grown since they last saw each other.  
"Well?" She said sharply, leaning against the doorframe. "Did you hear me?"  
He said nothing; he merely looked at her through hooded eyes. They were blue, she had not realised quite how blue before now. They were like the summer sky over the Shire on a lazy summer's afternoon.  
"Thorin?" She repeated, worried when he still did not reply. "Thorin is everything alright?"  
In one, smooth, quick movement, he pulled on the knot holding her shawl together and watched as it slipped off her shoulders, and fluttered to the floor. Penelope gasped slightly as the cold wind hit her bare shoulders and the top half of her chest. Her breasts were (thankfully) covered, but the fabric was opaque, and as Thorin's eyes travelled downwards over her form, that he could at least see an outline of what was there. She felt like her nerves had been frozen; everything around her had slowed to a snail's pace, and she could hardly breathe. "Th…Thorin…" She said in a hoarse voice, feeling it shake like the last leaf on a dying tree. "What are y-"

Her voice fell into nothingness, as slowly, ever so slowly, he reached up his hand and ran a finger down the side of her face. It was rough, and hard, and sent shivers down Penelope's back as he gently, so gently, traced the shape of her face, her lips, her nose. Then, his hand fell lower, and she involuntarily let out a small whimper as he traced the curve between her shoulders and her neck. She felt numb, only recognising the feel of his as it explored her shoulders and neck, tracing the scars that curved around the top of her arms and shoulders. She hadn't even thought to cover the scars, noticing only the sensation of his fingers running over the sensitive raised skin.  
He stopped when his fingers reached the fabric of her nightgown, just where her breasts began. Neither of them spoke, neither of them moved. She should be furious at him for taking liberties like this, he should not be turning up at her door and making her feel like _this. _She was drowning in his gaze. The tiny part of her mind that could think clearly wondered if he was debating whether to go lower, and also wondered if she wanted him too. Then, after she blinked and forced herself to focus, she realised he was holding her necklace in his hand. Thorin was no longer looking at her, he was completely focused on the small metal talisman he held in his hand. He held it like a fragile talisman that needed to be treated with care. She drank him in with her eyes while his eyes were averted; his thick dark hair and his heavy brow. His full lips…suddenly Thorin released the necklace, so quickly it fell against her collarbone with a dull _thud_, and took a step away from her. Then another, then another. His back turned, and he strode away until he was completely out of sight.

Penelope felt like she had just come to the surface of a lake to breathe air after holding her breath for too long. She gulped in the oxygen surrounding her, feeling her hands shake as she pushed the door shut. What in the name of all that is holy was that. For a moment she wished Ayda was in the room with her, or Gandalf or even Bilbo, just someone that she could ask for advice. She stooped to pick up her shawl from the floor. He can't do that, she thought, hands shaking, people don't _do that_. You don't turn up in the doorway of your companion and touch them, without their consent, and just make them _feel things_. She was verging on furious, she realised, she needed to stop before she got too angry.  
Numbly, she crawled under the thick white blanket, and stared up at the ceiling, willing herself to fall asleep, if only to escape her life for a brief time.  
But sleep did not come that night, and she was dressed and ready to leave long before Bilbo came to fetch her.

"You expected that we would be leaving?" He asked in surprise when he saw her. She was dressed in her white shirt, boots and black trousers, hair tied back in her customary braid. She looked tired, a dark shadow hung under both her eyes, and the frown that had slowly started to disappear on the journey, as they had become closer as a group, was back, and the lines seemed deeper than ever. Bilbo was not a stupid Hobbit, he knew that something must have happened between now and their meeting with Elrond, and he suspected Thorin's involvement. He peeked past her shoulder. The bed did not look slept in.  
"I do not know what to expect on this godforsaken journey anymore, Mr. Baggins!" She said harshly, pushing past him.  
She had not gone five steps before the guilt seeped in, and she turned back to the Hobbit with a sigh. He was still standing by her door, a hurt look on his face. "Forgive me, Bilbo, I did not mean that." She rubbed her eyes, feeling like a great weight had fallen on her shoulders. "I did not sleep last night. I fear I will be grumpy today."  
"Here." He replied gently, handing her a waterskin for her to drink from. "We must go. The Dwarves are waiting."  
"Where is Gandalf?"  
"Occupied." The Hobbit folded his arms, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of continuing without the Wizard. "Thorin says he will find us."  
"Thorin says a lot of things." Penelope muttered, before leaning over the railing and looking at the mountains in the distance. A hot feeling of unease dropped into her stomach like a rock. "We must not go through those mountains." She said, not expecting Bilbo to hear her.  
"Why not?"  
"There are…" She swallowed. "There are unsavoury creatures hidden deep within those stones."  
"Well," He sighed, walking away and down the steps, waiting for her to follow. "You can tell Thorin that, not me. To go around them would add weeks to our journey."  
She gave him a bitter smile. "Believe me, friend, I will fight that decision until my dying breath."  
She walked ahead, leaving Bilbo both confused, and twice as sure that something was happening right under their noses that none of them, not even Penelope and Thorin, were aware of.


	10. Chapter 10

"Do not be stupid. We are crossing the mountains."  
"Tell me, Thorin Oakenhshield, are you really as dim as you look? I have crossed those mountains, it is too dangerous."  
"Perhaps for a young female travelling on her own, but we are more than able to defend ourselves."  
"Do not patronise me, I am not a young maiden scared of everything beyond her doorstep. I am a woman and a warrior. If you force us to cross those mountains you place all of us in danger, when it could so easily be avoided. Are you so callous about the lives of your 'friends'?"  
"If we go around, we waste weeks that we do not have."  
"I will not cross those mountains."  
"Then you will lose the company."  
"How can you be so dense?! Listen; you will not survive if you attempt to go that way!"

Balin rubbed his eyes. Surely, it was too early in the morning for this. They had left Rivendell three weeks ago, and this argument had been repeated almost daily since then. It was the same as always; Penelope would shout at Thorin that crossing the mountain would only end in disaster for all of them, and they would most likely not reach the other side in one piece. For all the good it did, she may as well have shouted at a brick wall. Thorin was unmoved by all her threats, all her pleas, determined to cross the mountain within a few days. For his part, Balin was inclined to agree with Thorin. They could not afford to waste precious time going around the mountain, and they had all already faced serious danger and survived. Penelope was also refusing to be helpful and was adamantly rebuffing all their attempts to find out what it was that was waiting for them.  
The Half – Child's behaviour was beginning to worry the Dwarf though. As Rivendell had grown smaller and smaller on the horizon, and as the large black mountains had begun to hover menacingly over their heads, the female in their company had shrunk within herself. The mountains had an imposing presence it was true; it had made all in the company uncomfortable, but Penelope's reaction had been extreme. She ate little, and slept less, choosing instead to stay awake by the fire for the majority of the night, resting for only a few short hours when the dawn began to creep over the trees. She was also speaking and interacting much less. At first, Balin had thought it was due to Gandalf's missing presence, as it was clear the two were close, but this clearly went far beyond that. She made no conversation with anyone, replying monosyllabically if anyone spoke to her. Even Bilbo could not get a full sentence out of her. The only time she ever freely spoke was in her arguments with Thorin. Then, she returned to the fiery, proud character they had all become accustomed to. But then, the argument would end, always with the same outcome, and she would shrink back within herself and slink back to the outskirts of the group.

Balin jumped when Penelope screamed at Thorin, who raised his eyebrows in surprise. Apparently running out of things to say, Penelope stormed off and the argument appeared to be finished for the day.  
"Can we get on with the day now?" Dwalin asked to the group in general, causing a few to chuckle and shake their heads. Bilbo, however, looked worried.  
"I don't like it." He said quietly to Balin, eyes on Penelope's back. "Whatever it is that's scared her is no small thing. Maybe we should take the long way round."

"Then we lose time that we cannot spare." Balin said fairly, considering the Hobbit's words. "But, I will speak to Thorin."  
He approached Thorin, who seemed to have anticipated his coming.  
"I know what you are going to say Balin." He said as the older Dwarf came up behind him. "But my mind will not be changed. Not by her, not by the Wizard, not even by you."  
"I am not here to change your mind." Balin replied, setting himself down on a rock next to the Dwarf King. "We cannot waste time by going around the mountain."  
"So…?"  
He sighed. "Do not be so harsh on her, laddie."  
"It is pointless her continuing this argument with me when she knows I will not be moved."  
"Have you considered actually talking to her about it? Shouting at each other will get you nowhere, you are both far too stubborn." Balin said to the younger Dwarf. "But, if you showed her that you were willing to listen, instead of refusing to hear her arguments, she might become more flexible."  
Thorin looked at him for a moment. "I know you have it within you to be a great King." Balin pressed on. "But you must both be more open-minded if your relationship with her is to make any kind of progress on this journey."  
He thought he saw Thorin tense at the word 'relationship'. "I do not desire any…relationship with her."  
The old Dwarf smirked. "I was referring to a friendship. But, then again, I am not the one who disappeared off to her room when we were in Rivendell."  
His companion said nothing for a minute, then smiled at Balin. "You old friend, are wise beyond compare." He clapped his hand on the Dwarf's shoulder. "I do not think that anything will be gained by what you suggest, but I will heed your advice, as I have always done."  
Balin let out a bark of laughter that resounded off the stone surrounding them. "I seem to remember a young Dwarf prince who went out of his way to cause trouble for myself and the rest of the Royal Guard."  
Thorin joined him in his laughter for a brief moment, before a dark shadow passed across his face. "That young prince had to grow up sooner or later, old friend."  
They sat together in silence for a few minutes, the reminder of their loss creating a solemn mood between the two of them. It was only when Thorin walked off that Balin realised the Dwarf King had successfully changed the topic of conversation from his relationship with Penelope, by flattering his wisdom. Curse the easily puffed – up ego of the Dwarfs.

_This is not good,_ Penelope thought to herself, holding her knees underneath her chin and staring out into the dense undergrowth in front of her. Some small, logical part of her argued that it was nonsensical to be so on guard at this time of day, but the instant they had stepped under the shadow of the mountain, paranoia and fear had seeped into her veins, making her unable to think straight. She chewed her fingers, trying hard not to think about what was ahead, instead focusing on the ache in her muscles that came hand in hand with lack of sleep. The green of the bushes swam in and out of focus as her eyes dropped lower and lower. Then, she felt the heavy brush of fabric on her arm and jerked into a sitting position.  
"Hm! Thorin?"  
He didn't reply. She decided that she didn't like it when he did that; mainly because she never knew what he was about to do. The first time, he had shouted at her, and the last time…she still wasn't fully sure what had actually taken place.  
"We cannot go around the mountain."  
She sighed. So he was here to restart the argument. A cynical part of her mind wondered if perhaps he liked to get her riled up, while he remained unaffected by everything that she did.  
"Thorin; I am tired, I really do not want to fight with y-"  
"I will protect you." He said abruptly.  
"What?" She frowned at him. He was avoiding her gaze, obviously uncomfortable. Then he coughed.  
"We will protect you."  
Hackles rising, she stood up from the rock and walked in front of him, so he could no longer avoid her eyes.  
"I do not require protection, Thorin Oakenshield, and I thought I had proved this to you a million times over! I am not some weak female to be treated like a precious possession, and I refuse to let you, or anyone else think that they are so far above me they have the ability to protect me from all the horrible dangers of the world."  
"I know!" Thorin said, the volume of his voice making her jump, and causing several of the other Dwarves to cast a worried glance at them.  
"I know." He repeated in a quieter voice. "I no longer doubt your impressive ability with a sword, and knives. What I offer is a gesture of companionship." He scratched the back of his head awkwardly.  
"What?" Penelope said again, completely dumbfounded. This was not what she had expected.  
"You…you chose to join this quest willingly, though you had no ties to any of here, nor any loyalties to our race. You are our guide, and as such we depend on you." He gestured to the mountain behind him. "I cannot follow your advice on this occasion, but I, and all others here promise to protect you from whatever it is in those mountains you fear so much."

After his little speech, Thorin fell silent, clearly waiting for her to say something. But Penelope could not think of the words to say. It had obviously cost him a great deal to say that, but it did not even sound like Thorin. A stranger's promises flowed from his lips, and she realised that the Dwarf who stood before her at this very instant; arms folded (almost as a defence mechanism) and eyes flicking to look at everything around him, except her, was the true Thorin Oakenshield. This was the Dwarf on whose face she had seen such intense vulnerability on the night Balin had told them the story of Azog. This was the Dwarf she had seen grinning to himself after the trolls turned to stone. She wondered if this was the Dwarf who had knocked on her door and touched her face with such gentleness, yet with such possessiveness in his gaze. She felt like she should do something, but did not know what. Her hands clenched and unclenched awkwardly at her sides for a few moments, before she dived in. Taking one small step forwards, she stood on the tips of her toes and pressed a small kiss to his cheek. It was barely a kiss; more a brushing of her lips against the skin of his cheek, but she felt him tense. She speculated that he could actually handle very little physical affectionate contact; the most she had seen was the occasional slap on the back to one of the other Dwarfs. Surprising; as the Dwarf race in general was a fairly touchy – feely lot, it was the Elves that preferred little to no touching.  
"Thank you." She whispered to him. "Thank you."  
"I don't like the look of those clouds."  
Penelope's eyes flicked over Thorin's shoulder. It was Fili who had spoken. He was looking at the sky over the mountain range, where a group of clouds so dark they were almost black were hanging menacingly over one of the peaks. She took a deep breath.  
"Come." Thorin said, in a voice as gentle as she had ever heard him use. She let him lead her over to the rest of the company.  
"Lead out." He barked at the group, who began pulling on their packs and heaving themselves to their feet. "We need to get across these mountains within four days."  
"Three." Penelope cut in. Everyone looked at her. "Three." She repeated firmly. "We are out of those mountains in three days."  
Twisting her hands together, she followed the rag – tag bunch of Dwarves and Bilbo, who she now realised, were her friends. It sent a warm feeling into the pit of her stomach as they walked over the stony path towards their fate.


	11. Chapter 11

Fili had been right. As the dawn drew into evening, the mass of black clouds over their heads expanded until there was no clear sky visible in any direction. Then, like a waterfall, the rain came. If it can be called rain; in reality it was a full blown storm, the wind and sleet buffeting into them like a stampede of horses. Although the Dwarves were hardy, their lack of height still resulted in them being pushed helplessly about, a factor which became dangerous as the path became narrower. By the time night set in, each raindrop felt like a shard of glass slicing into their skin. Penelope, who had no hood, had smiled gratefully at Bofur when he handed her his hat. The sides of said hat were now soaked and stuck to the sides of her face, and as she watched Gloin growl in frustration and pull his hair out of his face for the umpteenth time, she was thankful that her hair, although wet, was securely tied back. The mountains around them seemed to groan as the wild weather threw their group around like rag dolls. The cold was biting into them all, even under the Dwarf's layers of armour and clothing. The wet had made Penelope's clothing less protective, and several times she had had to pause, wincing as one of her hidden knives cut into her skin. The sky was shining with bursts of lightning, but that was good, because it illuminated the path in front of them, and for a few brief seconds meant they could see where they were going. Thorin was leading them, and Penelope had admiration for his uncanny ability to keep them safe. But that did not make the journey any more pleasant.

"Keep going!" Thorin roared to them, edging around a large rock that blocked the majority of the narrow path. Penelope made it across safely, but her head snapped around so fast she felt something twinge, when the Dwarves behind her began to yell. Bilbo had slipped, his bare foot unsteady on the wet rock. Her heart fell to the floor, then shot back up again within a second when Dwalin grabbed the Hobbit's bag and pulled him back, away from the deep dark ravine that lay below them. Penelope felt like her nerves were standing on end and her hand shook as she reached for another piece of rock. They could not stay out here much longer.  
For once, she and Thorin appeared to be in agreement. "We must find shelter!" He bellowed through the storm. She squinted through the rain at his distant figure. He had paused, and was looking around him for a cave to shelter in.  
"We cannot go too far into the mountain for it!" Penelope screamed at him. The wind took her voice and scattered it, she did not even think Bombour, who was next to her, heard what she said. But now that they had paused, she was beginning to recognise their location, and realisation was slipping down her spine like ice. "Thorin!" She yelled, but he did not turn. The wind was howling in her ears, but that did not stop her hearing Dwalin's shout.  
"Look out!"  
She turned, just in time to see a massive rock formation flying towards them. It had come from directly opposite them, almost as if it had been thrown. But who could have thrown such a thing? She desperately pressed her back against the mountain behind, trying to protect herself as the boulder shattered on the rock above them, and rained down in pieces on their heads. She heard Bifur let out a howl of pain, and tried to edge sideways, the only thought in her head finding shelter from whatever was going on.  
Throwing, she soon realised, was what was going on.

"This is no thunderstorm." She heard Balin's voice, the wind making it sound like it was coming from the other end of a long tunnel. "It's a thunder battle!"  
Amidst the thunder and lightning, the wind and the rain, Penelope felt her mouth drop open and her grip on the rock slacken. In front of her, a mountain was literally _unfolding itself_ and standing up. It was not the only one. Two creatures, looking and sounding like they were made of solid rock, seemed to be in the middle of a fight. They moved slowly, but the damage they caused as they hit each other was equal to nothing Penelope had ever seen. She had not seen this before.  
They were all crouching on the ground, but she felt Bofur stand up to get a better look. "Well bless me." He said, voice nearly getting lost in the chaos that surrounded them. "The legends are true! Giants!" His voice took on a hysterical pitch. "Stone giants!"

As he spoke, one of the stone monsters lifted its arm and threw another hunk of rock in their direction. A small part of her brain that was not frozen in terror wondered if they had been seen. But then the rock flew right over their heads and smashed into another stone giant that was appearing from the mountain behind them. It seemed to be that they were much too small to be noticed, thankfully.  
"Hold on!" Someone behind her bellowed and as she turned back to look, a small moan of fear escaped from her mouth. The rock between them was splitting in half. One large, jagged cut that happened in the space of a few seconds. Before she knew it, Kili, Dori, Nori, Bifur, Balin, Gloin, Oin and Thorin were all desperately trying to reach for them as she, Bilbo, Bofur, Bombour, Ori, Fili and Dwalin moved away from them. The ground was shaking underneath their feet, so hard that she was almost unable to keep her feet steady, and had to cling on to Bofur to remain standing.  
"It's alright lass," he said, evidently trying to reassure her. "I've got you."  
"Bilbo!" She screamed, ignoring him. The Hobbit poked his head out from behind Dwalin and gave her a shaky wave through the sleet of rain to let her know he was alive. They all attempted to cling on to something that would enable them to hold their ground. From what she could see, the others on the cavern across from them were all alright, for the moment. Then, she heard the moaning and groaning above them, and shaking and shivering, cast her eyes upwards.

"We are all dead." She said quietly. It was a stone giant, and they were balanced on its knees. It peeled itself away from the stone (while the whole time, the company was struggling to stay on solid ground) and began to stand. But before it could become fully erect, another stone giant crashed into them. Penelope's screams were only muffled by the fact that she was currently squished between Bofur and Bombour. In the distance, through the wind, she thought she could hear someone shout her name, but who it was she could not tell. She watched, helpless to do anything, as the knee that the other half of the company was on knocked against a bit of stone that was, as of yet, unmoving. They wasted no time, and ran to safety, collapsing on the ground as soon as they had reached it.  
But the rest of them were not safe yet. Around them, the stone giants battled on, the damage and destruction like nothing she had ever seen. She looked on in horror as the stone giant that they were still clinging onto for dear life had its head knocked off. Losing balance, its body (with them still attached) began to fall towards a large black mountain. Slightly to their left, safe on a niched ledge was Thorin and his group. But she, Bilbo and the rest of the Dwarfs were falling, slowly but surely, into a side of the unmoving mountain. They would be squashed against it like flies, she realised, cold fear seeping into her veins. There was nothing they could do, only look on in horror as they fell to certain death. The Dwarves around her were screaming and yelling, but Penelope pushed past them and found Bilbo. She took his hand in an iron grip; a reassurance that she was there, that he was not alone.  
"Together?" She said, barely able to speak her lips were so numb from fear and cold.  
He nodded, unable to reply.  
She was still holding his hand when they crashed into the wall.


	12. Chapter 12

Penelope was dimly aware of the cold, shockingly icy and biting into her skin. She took a deep breath in and smelled the rain and the earth. Her eyes flashed open. She was alive! She was in a _lot _of pain but she was alive! She groaned and coughed. Her head was swimming, her limbs were heavy and her vision swam in and out of focus. She blinked a couple of times and everything came into focus. Around her, the other Dwarves were beginning to move, some standing, some needing a few moments to clear their heads. Thorin and the rest of the company appeared from around a rock, faces drawn tight in worry.  
"We're ok." She tried to say, coughing. "We're ok."  
She rubbed her eyes, fighting through the fuzzy pain in her head. Then she shrieked as she felt the ground disappear beneath her.  
"Are you hurt?" Thorin had pulled her to her feet and was pushing the wet strands of hair away from her face to get a better look at her.  
She coughed again, feeling slightly dizzy. Maybe she hadn't escaped quite so unscathed. He was standing so close to her, crowding her, cupping her face, stroking her arms frantically, almost desperately. She felt like she couldn't breathe, and shoved him away, stumbling slightly.  
"I'm fine Thorin, my God!"  
Then, he pulled her tightly against, crushing her against the sodden fur of his coat.  
"Praise the Gods." She heard him whisper quietly. He started to stroke her hair, pulling on it painfully as he pushed his hand roughly across it. Penelope was torn, his body was warm and she could feel the hard lines of his stomach through his sodden clothing, it would be so easy to lean into his embrace, wrap her arms around his waist and caress him the way he was caressing her. But she also felt nauseous, too confined, and uncomfortable, almost wishing he would stop just so she could have a moment to sort out her muffled head.

"Where's Bilbo?" Someone suddenly shrieked. Penelope heard it, as if through a long, windy tunnel, and she blinked slowly. Her eyes were refusing to focus on whoever it was that had spoken. Then, she felt a blast of icy cold air as space grew between her and Thorin. Vaguely she realised she had fallen to the ground. It was uncomfortable, but she found her arms and legs were too heavy to move. Head spinning too much and thoughts coming too slow to register panic; she slowly raised her head – which felt like it weighed a ton of bricks – and blinked slowly. She couldn't tell if it was the rain that blurred the group standing in front of her; she didn't even recognise them.  
Then, she saw one of them jump off the ledge he had been standing on. She frowned and tilted her head. He reappeared a few moments later. No, wait…this man was shorter, a lot shorter, with a red coat heavy with rain and bare feet.  
The man she had seen before suddenly reappeared. She smiled. It was quite funny really, he had leapt up out of nowhere. He seemed to be cross, and was saying words that sounded like they should have been loud but really just sounded like a muffled noise. They were nasty words, judging by the look on the short man's face, but Penelope decided that didn't matter because the taller one had a nice look about him.  
Out of nowhere, a splitting pain shot from one corner of her forehead to the other. She screwed her eyes shut briefly against the pain, and she blindly raised her hand, trying to feel her head. When she opened her eyes and managed to focus on her hand, she saw that it was coated in a deep, dark, red liquid.  
"Penelope?" She heard someone say. No longer did they sound far away, instead it was like they were right next to her and had whispered gently into her ear.  
She turned her head. Lots of eyes seemed to be staring at her.  
"Oh." Was all she managed before her eyes rolled back into her head and she slumped to the ground.

"I thought we'd lost our burglar!" Dwalin said, clutching Bilbo to him. Relief was clear on all the Dwarves faces, but Thorin felt only rage hum through his soul.  
That damned Hobbit. He'd never even wanted to accompany them, and had caused nothing but trouble for them since he had. He couldn't tell if it was the cold of the rain or the heat of his anger that was making him shake. His heart was pounding from his near fall, and he wanted to hit something, break something, make a physical show of his anger. He was the Dwarf Prince and he would not risk his neck saving the life of a Halfling who was so attached to his armchair Thorin was surprised he hadn't brought it with him.  
"He's been lost ever since he left home." He snapped, unable to hold his tongue. He turned away from Bilbo, some small part hating himself for the words that left his lips, but he couldn't stop himself. "He should never have come. He has no place amongst us."  
He moved away, about to snap at Dwalin to get the company moving again, but Balin's voice made freeze.  
"Penelope?"  
He turned his head. The elderly Dwarf had stopped in his tracks, arm held out to stop those standing behind him. He was looking to their left, where Penelope sat on the cold and muddy ground. Her head was bent, she was staring at her hand, and Thorin frowned. What was she doing?  
Then, she raised her head to stare at them. In time to come Thorin would describe what he saw as something similar to losing the air in your lungs.  
Her face, and hand, was covered in blood. As he gaped at her, in too much shock to fully understand what was going on, a fresh trail of blood bubbled up from a deep gaping wound on her forehead – how had he not seen it previously? - and slowly dropped down her face.  
"Oh." She said, voice barely carrying on the wind. Then she crumpled into a small pile at their feet.  
Thorin was pretty sure he almost threw Ori off the cliff, as he pushed past the Dwarves to scoop her up in his arms. For a female that was Half – Dwarf, she felt uncomfortably light and frail in his arms.  
"We must find shelter!" He roared at the dumbstruck group in front of him. No one moved, and Thorin could feel his mind beginning to cloud over with panic. Then…  
"Here!" He heard a yell. Bilbo was standing in front of a small hole, well concealed into the mountain. Neither he, nor any of the Dwarves were likely to have spotted it. He felt the beginnings of shame as he remembered Gandalf's comment about a Hobbit's superior eyesight.  
Still, he pushed the unpleasant knowledge that he would have to make an apology to the Hobbit to one side, as he awkwardly forced both himself and Penelope into the cave. It was much larger on the inside, thank goodness, and Thorin raised his eyebrows when he saw how much of the mountain was actually hollow. Finally, a stroke of luck.  
"Place her over here." Oin, the only Dwarf in the company who had any sort of idea about medicine, gestured to a corner that, although not any warmer, at least protected her from the worst of the wind.

He gently put her on the ground, simultaneously wishing he had a soft mattress to place her on, and cursing himself for such limpid thoughts. What, had he become a pathetic Elf, making moony faces at females and writing one thousand page poems in their honour? No, he was a Dwarf King, the heir to the throne of Erebor, the King Under the Mountain, and he was far too superior to be bowled over by a mere female.  
Still, he felt himself cringe when her hands flopped loosely off his arms – where he had been holding them – and onto the ground, where they lay there uselessly. In that moment, he would have given all he had for her to be standing in front of him, screaming at him that he was an idiot.  
"Come away, lad." He heard Balin say behind him. "Let Oin do his work."  
Feeling slightly numb, Thorin allowed Balin to lead him away towards to rest of the group. He strode to a corner, ignoring them until he heard Gloin say cheerfully: "Right! Let's get a fire started."  
"No." He snapped at the red haired Dwarf. Penelope's warnings flashed through his mind and, almost unwillingly, his eyes snapped over to where she lay. Oin was obstructing her face as he kneeled in front of her and within a second, the Dwarf Prince's eyes were back on Gloin. "No fire. We don't know what's in those mountains. Get some rest." He said to the group at large. "We leave at dawn."  
The other Dwarves began to unpack their bags and lay out their sleeping mats, but Thorin did not move. He would not sleep tonight, he could not afford to sleep. He told himself it was because they needed someone on watch, and he was better than any, but he knew he could have asked any of the Dwarves to do it.  
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Ori as the youngest Dwarf walked over to where Penelope lay, and gently draped his blanked over her still form. Oin smiled gently and patted Ori on the shoulder. Thorin found that he was almost wistful. He had never been sweet and unassuming like Ori. He knew that generally it was not considered attractive in a Dwarf male, but he was jealous of the companionship shared between Ori and Penelope. He knew that there was no attraction between them, but he envied the conversation they shared, easily flowing and full of laughter. He envied their comfortable silences, and smiles. He did not think that he had ever made Penelope laugh.

Being able to make someone smile and laugh and feel comfortable around him had never been a necessity in Thorin's upbringing. He was a Prince, descended from a sacred line of noble Dwarf Kings, and his education and views of the world had been shaped and dictated as such.  
But when Penelope spoke to him, she did not speak (or act) like she cared about his lineage, like she cared about why he was the way he was. She only cared about who he was in the moment and how his decisions affected the lives and wellbeing of those around him. She cared about his wellbeing, that much was obvious, just as much as the rest of the company, and he knew it angered her when it appeared that he did not care about others.  
Thorin hated himself in that moment. He hated that he was only able to show himself in this gruff, cross way. He hated that although he was a Prince, he never felt worthy to be in Penelope's presence. He hated that although she trusted a doddery old wizard with her life, she did not trust him enough to tell him the secret of her scars. He hated that she did not trust him, when he so desperately wanted her to. He hated that she did not like him, when he wanted her to. He hated that he could not tell her how much he…  
"She's awake."  
Thorin blinked twice, startled from his reverie. Oin stood in front of him, wiping his hands on his shirt.  
"I've sewed up the wound and bandaged it. Within a few days it should be on the mend. She was lucky. Any deeper and it would have caused serious injury. But, the rain made the blood look worse, and although her crash against the rock sent her head spinning for a while, there was no serious damage. She's tired, but you can go see her if you wish."  
He looked over the top of Oin's head. Penelope's eyes were closed and her hand was laid across her face, but she was smiling gently and speaking quietly to Bilbo, who was holding her free hand tightly and tucking her blankets affectionately around her.  
"Thank you, Oin." He said quietly to the Dwarf. "You should get some rest."  
Thorin did not go and see Penelope. He did, however, tell Bofur to take to first watch, and unravelled his blanket, feeling that perhaps a few hours of sleep was not a bad thing at all.

"You seem to have a habit of drawing attention to yourself in the worst possible way." Bilbo said to her, after tucking her in. She smiled at him. Her eyes were closed, and her arm was resting on her forehead, but she could feel the Hobbit holding her tightly, and she gave his hand a squeeze.  
"You're one to talk. You turn trolls to stone for fun." She shot back, suppressing a groan as a flash of pain shot through her head. "I think I must have drunk too much ale last night, my head is killing me."  
The Hobbit laughed. "I think you had a very lucky escape, and you shouldn't joke about it."  
"Bofur!" She heard Thorin's voice and had to physically stop herself from lifting her arm up and opening her eyes so she could see him. "Take the first watch."  
Bofur, who had just unrolled his blanket, looked it at regretfully before putting it away and sitting himself down in a corner of the cave.  
Penelope opened her eyes just in time to see a shadow pass over Bilbo's face as he looked at Thorin.  
"Bilbo? Are you alright?" She asked the Hobbit, who ignored her and stood up.  
"I…I'm going to get some sleep." He said abruptly. Penelope frowned up at his stiff back. "Alright then. Good night."  
"Good night." He started to walk away, then suddenly turned back to her. "You know…I have enjoyed knowing you, Penelope. I really have."  
Without waiting for her to reply, he scuttled away to the far side of the rock, and disappeared from her view. She frowned again. That was odd. She was about to force herself up to follow him, when Oin appeared at her side.

"Rest, lass." He placed a restraining hand on her shoulders and pushed her back down. "Your body has been through too much for one day. Take respite while you can."  
Almost before he was done speaking, a wave of drowsiness fell upon her, until she was almost unable to keep her eyes open.  
"Mmph." She said, by way of agreement. Bilbo was never one to hide his feelings, she argued. Whatever it was that was bothering him, he would tell her soon enough. As she was about to surrender to the comforting darkness, a thought struck her, a thought that could potentially be extremely worrisome.  
"Where in the mountain are we?" She tried to ask Oin, but it came out as a slurred mumble.  
"That's right lass," He said gently, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders.  
And then, in that way people do just before they fall asleep, Penelope forgot to care about what she had thought was so important, and fell asleep.

The ground was rumbling. Not in the way it had when the mountains had come alive, this time it was just the ground underneath them that was moving. Penelope jerked awake like a bucket of ice water had been thrown in her face, and for one, horrible moment, she was disorientated.  
Then, Kili grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet and her eyes focused in the darkness. The Dwarves were all getting to their feet, looking confused, worried; almost any emotion under the sun except for any positive ones. Then she saw Bilbo slowly lift his dagger out of his sheath, saw the bright blue glow, and with terrifying, paralyzing fear, remembered what cave they were in.  
"Oh no." She said through numb lips as the ground began to shake more and more violently beneath their feet. "No, no, no, please no."  
But whoever she was pleading with was clearly not listening, as deep cracks in the ground began to appear, and menacing orange torchlight illuminated the cave around them.  
"I told you!" She screamed, surprising even herself with the venom in her voice. Unsurprisingly, it was directed at Thorin, who for once, seemed to have nothing to say in reply, instead staring at her with wide, confused, eyes. She forced her feet to move over the shaking ground until she was stood in front of him.  
"I told you going this way would kill us, and now it's too late! You have condemned us all to death!"  
"What is it?" He said desperately. "What's down there?!"  
Any reply she might have given him was lost in her screams as the ground beneath the Company's feet disappeared and the fell to the orange caverns below.


	13. Chapter 13

It wasn't dark anymore, the light was a harsh, almost blinding orange glow from thousands upon thousands of torches, and Penelope briefly closed her eyes against it as she fell. The air was so hot and pungent that she wanted to breathe through her mouth but dreaded to think of the smells covering her tongue. They were falling, all of them, down and down, further and further into the chasms below. They rolled through rocky tunnels that led deeper and deeper into the earth. No matter how hard she pressed her feet into the ground, or tried to scrabble at rocks when she could, the slope was too steep and she couldn't stop her body from moving. Until finally, they slipped, bruised and scraped, out of a small opening and crashed on top of each other on a rickety wooden bridge.  
Penelope felt her head collide with someone's knee, and groaned as it knocked against her wound. Then she shrieked as Bombour fell directly on top of her. For one, brief second, she closed her eyes and felt the ground steady beneath her. Then, she heard the all too familiar shrieks and animalistic howls of the goblins. There were hundreds of them, and they threw themselves on the company. Penelope felt her stomach roll, and for a moment thought she might vomit. Goblins were foul creatures, with shrunken heads, arms and legs, large ears and noses and small beady eyes. Their skin, where it was visible underneath dirt and excrement, was dull and grey and their teeth and hands were little more than sharp fangs and claws. They were disgusting, and they lived for nothing more than to serve their master.  
They swarmed all over the company, and she wondered if they would be killed, here and now. For her, it was the preferable option. Then, as she saw Gloin fighting against the grasp of one particularly nauseating creature, she realised they were in fact, being pushed and pulled to their feet. Her instincts slowed by the cold fear slipping into her, she only just managed to duck behind Bombour as he was shoved forward.  
She looked frantically for an escape as they began to walk, if you can call it walking. Thousands of goblins were coming at them from every angle, trying to bite, scratch or claw at any part they could reach. They were standing on one (out of potentially millions) of goblin made bridges, the caves around them stretching as far as they eye could see. Thankfully, Bombour's wider girth protected her from much damage, but she did receive a couple of blows to her arms and legs.  
_You're still alive. Focus on that. You escaped once before and you can do it again. But you have to make sure that you are not seen. If any of them recognise you, it's all over. Just stay hidden._

"Penelope?!" She heard someone shouting. It was Thorin. "Where's Penelope?"  
With perhaps more agility and speed that she had ever shown, she ducked under arms, and shoved her way past Dwarves, all the while making sure her head was bowed. It was her eyes, she knew, that would give her away. Goblins are as dim-witted as can be, her face and hair and body were simply irrelevant details to them. But once any of them saw her eyes, they would remember who she was.  
She pulled on Thorin's hood, and he twisted his torso around to catch her eye.  
She saw relief in his eyes, despite the constant shoving he was receiving from the goblins. The noise was intense; the yells of the Dwarves, the shrieks of the goblins, and the awful grinding noise of their tunnel equipment. She had to bend her head close to his to hear what he was saying. His words were harsh.  
"Why did you not tell us what was down here? You knew, you knew the whole time and yet you never thought to inform us?"  
Penelope was too scared to be angry, and she clapped a hand over his mouth to make him be quiet.  
"Help me."  
"What?" He roared, partly out of anger as he was knocked to and fro.  
"You told me you would protect me," she shouted over the din. "So help me, I need a disguise."  
He blinked at her, the noise and constant shoving distracting him. She swore under her breath, and with a mighty tug, ripped the Dwarf Princes' cloak off his shoulders and threw it around herself. It was thick, and stuffy, and she wasn't sure if the damp she felt was rain or sweat, but the hood was large enough to cover her face. It was unpleasant, and she wanted to cry, but she swallowed her fear and focused all her energy on simply moving forwards, and staying alive.  
Before Thorin had time to question her actions, the goblins started hitting the Dwarves with heavy sticks to speed them up. They walked on and on, further into the centre of the hive. She didn't know what entrance they'd fallen out of, and so did not know how far from the King they were. She could have quite happily continued to walk and be shoved about for the rest of her life. It was like they were moving towards the centre of an arena; wooden ledges were piled on top of each other all around them, and on each ledge stood hundreds of goblins. They screamed down at them as they were pushed forwards. They were disgusting, they were scum. Penelope felt her stomach turn. Then, from underneath the edge of Thorin's hood, she saw him.

Fat. Sweaty. Stinking of dung and who knows what else. The Goblin 'King' sat on his throne. With a chin almost as large as his stomach, and greasy strands of hair escaping from his tiny crown made of bones, the monstrosity lurched forward from his brittle throne, squashing a squirming pile of goblins underfoot as he stumbled towards them, his legs almost too short and fat to support him. Penelope began to breathe, hard, as she tried not to make a sound. Despair was enveloping her. She thought she was free. She had thought she had escaped this. But she was being pulled into the dark, writhing mass of memories. The subjugation. The degradation. Her cage…oh god.  
She felt the bile rise in her throat as she saw it, hanging empty to the right of the throne. Although her wounds were long since healed, Penelope felt her back hum in pain as those endless months and years planted themselves in the forefront of her mind. Her mind's eye played through all the events in exquisite detail; the slices, the lashes. How she was starved. How she was used. Her shaking hands scrabbled for the necklace hidden deep in the bodice of her dress. As the Goblin King leant towards them and opened his foul mouth to announce their failure and downfall, she used the small metal charm as her anchor, to pull her back into a world where she could think and see straight.

The Dwarves' swords had been thrown into a useless pile on the ground, and the Goblin surveyed them with one large eye. "Who would be so bold as to come armed into my kingdom." He growled at them. His voice was like the earth; deep and rumbling, without a trace of forgiveness or mercy.  
He stood over them, like a brick wall of flesh, and his voice took on a hysterical pitch, showing the madness that lurked beneath the foul exterior. "Spies? Thives? Assassins?!"  
"Dwarves, Your Malevolence." One of his underlings spoke in a voice that reminded Penelope of the feeling you got when you pricked your finger on something sharp.  
Their real identity was apparently more horrific than the thoughts he had previously entertained. "Dwarves?" He said, rearing back. Was it her tired, scared mind playing tricks on her, or did he glance to the cage for one brief moment?  
"We found them on the front porch." The same underling replied. Such a homely word for something so terrible.  
"Well, don't just stand there! Search them!" The Goblin roared. Penelope pressed her lips together to stop a squeak escaping.  
Dwarves began to swarm into their ranks. For one wonderful moment, nothing happened. Then, Thorin's hood was wrenched off her shoulders.

"'Ere!" One of them screeched. "It's a girl!"  
"A girl?!" The Goblin thundered, and she knew by his tone that he knew. He had always had an unpleasant way of knowing. "Bring her here."  
"No!" Thorin bellowed, charging forwards like an angry bull, but he was outmatched and pushed back by several goblin underlings.  
Penelope was grasped firmly under the arms and hoisted to the feet of the Goblin, where she was pushed down to her knees. She stayed there, refusing to move, even as she felt the fear settle on her like a stone, even as every single fibre of her being was screaming at her to run. She knew, from experience, that you should never run from the Goblin King.  
He laughed, the sound of someone who enjoys the pain of others. She hated that she knew it so well. "Could it be? Has she finally returned?"  
The caves grew silent, or as silent as was possible. Everything seemed to hang on the point of a knife. Then, he grabbed her face with a meaty thumb, which smelled so bad it made her eyes water, and forced her head up so she stared into his yellow eyes.  
"It is!" He almost screamed with glee, and the caves erupted with noise. The goblins were screaming in joy, and why not, Penelope thought blankly. Their whipping post had returned. Why had she thought she could escape?  
"So sorry to deprive you of her company, boys." The Goblin said in something akin to sarcasm, swinging her up into his sweaty hand. She hung limply in his grasp. The more you fought, the more it hurt later.  
"But as they say," He said, barely able to control his giggles. "I was here first."

Thorin could clearly control himself no longer. "You put her down this instant!" He roared at the Goblin. "You have no right to her, she belongs with us!" Somewhere in the back of her mind, she applauded his courage. He received a brutal smash to the head as his response.  
"You mean she never told you?" He replied mockingly. "No, I don't suppose she did."  
Her limbs flailed about uselessly as he dangled her in front of them like some gross puppet on a string. She couldn't look at any of them, she didn't want to see the look on their faces when they were told what she was.  
"I mean look at her. You wouldn't have someone like her accompany you if you were planning to use her for conversation now would you."  
"You shut your filthy mouth!" Dwalin snarled at him. The Goblin merely laughed in reply.  
"I assure you she had plenty of practice with my darling underlings. She was much more fun at the start though, screaming and fighting. By the end she just lay there. That's when we had to bring in the whips."  
He lifted her and dropped her carelessly into her cage. She hit the floor with a small cry, and the Goblin King squealed in delight.  
"Oh, good, you didn't lose your voice! I was so afraid we had beaten all of the screams out of you. What a pleasure to see our old songbird can still chirp. You see, gentlemen," He said, dropping into his throne with a sigh. "Years ago, a young Halfling fell into my lap. What use is some freak of nature like this, I thought, and almost had her killed on the spot. Then she looked up at me, and I saw those eyes. These eyes, which are greater than any treasure, I realised. So, I kept her." He gestured to the cage. "I made her a wonderful home where she could live as my favourite pet." His voice took on a sullen note, like a spoiled child who has just been told no. "She was naughty. She kept trying to escape, and some of the language she used, just terrible. So I did what any good goblin would do. I broke her."  
Goblins were swarming over the cage from all sides, trying to swipe at her and reach her.  
There were decidedly no upsides to being the pet of the Goblin King, but his fierce possessiveness over her had at least ensured that the cage was too large and the bars too close together to ensure that she couldn't be reached. No one could touch her without the permission of the King. Which was not saying much.

She curled up into a ball and clutched her head between her hands. She just had to keep thinking. The King didn't know who Thorin was yet, she realised. A faint spark of hope appeared on the horizon. If she could convince the King to let the rest of the company go…it was unlikely, but if she promised to stay, no escape attempts, wilful obedience, the temptation might be so strong that he would not be able to refuse. The Half - Child tried not to think about what kind of future that mapped out for her.  
"But I am nothing if not a generous King," the Goblin was saying, and she forced herself to listen to his words. Goblin hands were still reaching for her and the cage was swinging to and fro. "Allow me to share with you the enjoyment I have reaped from my treasure."  
With a wave of his hand, the goblins disappeared from the walls of her cage, and the swinging began to slow down. Penelope felt a sense of foreboding creep upon; when the Goblin King offered to share something it was rarely good news.  
She raised her head just in time to see him address one of his underlings. "Bring out The  
King's Subject."

Someone screamed. A moment later she realised it was her. She was on her feet now, hands clutching the bars of the cage as she pulled at them fruitlessly. "No, no please, not that!"  
He laughed, and she began to cry. She heard shouts coming from the Dwarves, but the Goblin King thundered over them. "SILENCE. You think I share my toys with anyone?"  
An underling sidled up to him and presented him with the whip. It's impossible to describe The King's Subject to anyone who has not seen it. The thin leather of the whip covered a long, flexible bar of iron, resulting in back breaking agony. Not only that, but thousands of small pin pricks were sticking out of the leather, which left dozens of small holes in your back. There was a certain place in the lower half of Penelope's back where the scarring was simply dents in her skin.  
"Ready the subject!" The Goblin King cried in mock formality, his enjoyment clear. Penelope screamed and screamed, but the noise was drowned out by the sound of the Dwarf's yells. Her eyes were blurry with tears as she looked down at them. They were staring at her in horror. The last thing she saw before she was forced around was Thorin. He was staring at her and the look on his face broke her heart.  
Her back was now facing the Dwarves, and in one movement, two goblins tore savagely at her dress. Her hidden knives clattered to her feet, useless. She felt shame burning in her cheeks as her naked back was exposed to her friends below her. She would later say that the humiliation was far worse than the pain, but as the Company saw the whip split her back into ribbons, as they saw the blood begin on the cage floor, as they heard her screams, they knew the truth. If there had been less goblins they would perhaps have been able to reach her, pull her down from the cage and run with her to safety. Ori was sobbing into Dori's shoulder, Dwalin was being restrained by four other members of the company, Balin seemed frozen in horror. Thorin wanted to look away, wanted to reach her cage and drag her safety, wanted to rip the King's head off with his bare hands, wanted to cover her body with hers and take the pain for himself. But he couldn't do any of that. So he stood, and he watched and swore and oath that he would never fail to protect her ever again.


	14. Chapter 14

"_Daddy, Daddy!" She shrieked in excitement as she saw the familiar figure appear over the hill. "Daddy's home!"_  
_Completely disregarding her morning porridge, the little girl almost upended the table in her rush to meet her father. Her mother rolled her eyes affectionately but followed the girl out into the early morning sunshine._  
_Her feet almost flew over the ground as she scampered over the dew covered grass of the front garden, ignoring the front gate and instead hoisting herself over the small stone wall and running along it until she collided head first with the figure appearing around the corner._  
"_Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" She cried, as he swung her into the air._  
"_Penelope Maybelle Cotton, you get bigger and more beautiful every time I see you, you do."_  
"_Where did you go Daddy? What did you see? Did you get me anything?"_  
_The Dwarf laughed, the sun glinting off the decorative metal pieces in his red beard. He smelled like smoke, the earth and home. "Give me a chance to sit down, little one!"_  
_Penelope slipped down onto the ground and started tugging at his hand. "Come on then! Mummy made cakes yesterday, your favourite ones!"_  
"_Not lemon and ginger?" Her father laughed. "I hope you didn't eat them all, little one!"_  
"_'Course not!" His daughter replied as they reached the front gate, looking affronted. "I knew you were coming home so I saved some."_

_Her mother, who was waiting at the gate, laughed and picked her up. "She always knows when you're on your way, I don't know how she does it."_  
"_Hello, wife." Penelope's father said, smiling softly. The young Half – Child looked away in disgust as her parents kissed._  
"_Come on, come on!" She said impatiently. "I want to see my gift!"_  
_They both laughed and Blossom let her squirming red haired child down. "Alright, Penny, alright!"_  
_Once inside, Baldin gratefully removed his pack from his aching shoulders, removed his travel stained cloak and boots, and was settled in his armchair with a hot drink and a cake. But he was allowed no more than thirty seconds of peace before his daughter wormed her way onto his lap and demanded a gift. Blossom, who had sat in a chair opposite them, shot her a warning look, but Baldin simply laughed and shooed her off._  
"_Well, on my way home I had to travel through 'the woods'."_  
_His daughter gasped, her eyes shining. Being too young to go to the woods (or so her mother thought) her imagination was running wild with all the mystical things that must be kept there._  
"_And on my way through, you'll never guess what leapt out and jumped into my beard!"_  
"_What, what?!" She said, giggling at the thought of something hiding in her father's large red beard._  
_She saw him reach in and grope about a bit (he was only pretending of course, but it was important to go along with these things) until he pulled out a long thin cord, with a piece of metal attached to it. She'd been raised on stories of the mountain and the dragon, and it only took her an instant to recognise it._

"_It's Erebor! Look Mummy, it's Erebor and Smaug!" She snatched the necklace from her father's hand and held it up to the light._  
"_He doesn't look so scary like this." She mused and a few, childish images of herself riding the dragon flashed through her mind, before her mother gently reminded her to thank her father._  
"_Thank you Daddy!" She said, placing a sloppy kiss on his cheek, before running into her bedroom to admire herself in her looking glass._  
"_You're spoiling her." Her mother warned, laughing._  
"_Nonsense." He replied. "If I can't use my gift as a metal worker to treat the two most important people in my life, then what am I good for?"_  
_His wife cocked her head at him in confusion, then her eyes widened as he produced a small ring from his pocket. "Oh, Baldin..."_  
"_I know it's a few years late." He said gruffly, clearing his throat. "But while I was back with my family, I remembered that I never actually gave you anything when we got married."_  
"_You never had to." Blossom said, hating how her voice wavered. "You were all I wanted. You are all I want."_  
"_Nevertheless," The Dwarf continued, "Since we have broken almost every convention for both of our races, we should at least attempt to stick to some kind of tradition. So, Blossom Cotton, will you do me the very great honour of becoming my wife?"_  
_She laughed through the tears in her eyes. "Of course I will, you idiot."_  
_Penelope watched from the doorway as her mother leant down and kissed her father. Yes, she decided, that was the right way to do it._

The goblins were not good fighters, and were easily cut down. But the sheer number of them meant that there was a strong possibility that they would not get out alive. Thorin decided that if he ever got out of here, the first thing he would do was drink some kind of alcohol, and a lot of it.  
Completely disregarding the rest the fight, Thorin sprinted to Penelope's cage and leapt high into the air to grab onto it and pull it down. When it touched the ground, Thorin looked inside and felt his stomach roll. Her back was whipped to shreds and she was covered in blood. She was unconscious and her head lolled about uselessly when he gently picked her up.  
"Don't you dare, Penelope Cotton." He said, barely aware that he was speaking. "Don't you dare give up now."  
A mighty shout caught his attention. Dwalin was gesturing to him and as he ran over to join the company, he felt them surround him and Penelope in a protective circle. Both he and Penelope now depended on the ability of the company to get them out of there alive.

"_Go live with the Dwarves, _  
"_No one wants you here."_  
"_Freak."_  
_Penelope fought back tears. If they saw her crying, she would lose, she knew that much. So she kept her head down and pushed on home._  
"_Where do you think you're going, freak?"_  
_It was one of the biggest boys in her class, and he shoved her so hard that she fell face first onto the dirt. She felt his shadow fall across her as he stood over her. A few tears leaked out of her eyes and slipped down her cheeks._  
"_Why are you crying, freak?" He demanded. "You're a Dwarf. Dwarves love dirt, don't they?"_  
_He grabbed her hair and shoved her face into the ground. She squirmed against his grasp. Dirt was filling her nose and mouth, she couldn't breathe._  
"_HEY!"_  
_Abruptly, her head was realised and she twisted onto her back, coughing and hacking. She could see the bullies sprinting away down the path. Whatever they might say, the sight of a fully grown male Dwarf sprinting towards them was clearly enough to frighten them._  
"_Come on sweetheart." Baldin lifted his daughter, dirty and crying, into his arms. "Let's get you cleaned up."_  
_Later, after Blossom had forced some food down her and scrubbed her skin until it was a  
rosy pink, Baldin knocked on his daughter's bedroom door. She was sat cross legged in the middle of her bed, holding her necklace in her hands. She was older than when he had first given it to her, but still young, too young to have to suffer fools like Hobbit children._  
"_Why are they so mean, Dad?" She asked, without looking up. _  
_He sighed,and sat down next to her. "Because you're not the same as them, and they're scared by that."_  
_Her lower lip trembled and she looked up at him. He was, as always, slightly blown away by her eyes. They looked like they belonged to someone much, much older, with a lot more troubles. Eyes that sad shouldn't belong on the face of his beautiful little girl._  
"_Why aren't I the same?" She asked quietly. "I'm not mean, they're mean. But everyone likes them, and no one likes me."_  
_He pulled his little girl onto his lap and pressed a kiss into her fiery red curls. "You're not the same, Penelope, because you are a good person, you do not push other people around because you think you're better than them. You're braver then any of them will ever be."_  
_He looked down at his child and gently stroked her cheek. "What they say can't hurt you unless you let it."_

Thorin had no idea how Penelope had survived the fall. He had managed to twist his body so that she fell on top of him, hopefully softening the landing, and they were luckily out of the way of the impact of the Goblin King when he landed on top of the other Dwarves. But still. Thorin could only come to the conclusion that she was blessed.  
Groaning and cursing, the other Dwarves pulled themselves out of the rubble. Thorin, still holding Penelope's unconscious body close to him, managed to grab Oin.  
"Is she alright?" He demanded. Oin let his eyes travel over her body, before sighing.  
"I don't know." He said honestly. "I just don't know."  
It was all Thorin had expected really. He made a silent plea to whatever deity existed, that she would survive through this.

"_Penelope! Penelope, quickly!"_  
_She had just come from a lazy afternoon in the forest with Holman Burrows, her cheeks still flushed and hair rumpled, when Old Man Roper had found her. He had pulled her up the path to her Hobbit hole, giving her no explanation as to what was going on. But as soon as they rounded the final corner, Penelope saw._  
_A cart had upturned on the path outside their house, and trapped underneath, with the spoke of the wheel stuck clean through her hip, was...oh god._  
"_MOTHER!" Penelope screamed, pushing and shoving through the quickly gathering crowd. She fell to her knees beside Blossom who, despite being as white as a sheet and bleeding profusely, managed to give her a weak smile._  
_In one swift movement, several Hobbits managed to lift the cart off her, and Penelope rushed to help carry her mother into the house. Quickly and efficiently, they carried her through the house and placed her gently onto her bed. Tears were streaming from Penelope's eyes as, with shaking hands, she helped the healer (who by some miracle had been around at the time of the accident) try to bandage the wound._  
"_Where is your father?" asked the Healer as he placed a poultice of herbs onto the gaping wound. Penelope felt bile rise in her throat has she saw the open skin and looked away._  
"_He's gone collecting metal from the Blue Mountain," She replied, "He won't be back for at least a week."_  
_Blossom was pale and sweaty, her body taunt against her mattress. Penelope stroked her hair back and placed a wet cloth over her mother's forehead. The Healer had taken out some  
thread and was doing something to the wound, she didn't want to see in case it made her vomit._  
"_Will she be ok?" She asked quietly._  
_He did not reply for almost twenty minutes while he finished his work, then stretched and sighed. "I've done as much as I can for now. It's out of my hands."_  
_Penelope nodded, looking down at her mother. "Thank you. You can let yourself out."_  
_If the Healer was affronted at her lack of manners, he did not show it. "I hope she recovers." He said from somewhere near the doorway. "I truly do."_  
_And at first, it seemed like she was going to. As the days passed, her mother grew stronger and stronger, and was able to move around more. Hobbits came and went to their home in a steady stream, with gifts and comforting words. By the sixth day after the accident, Blossom was eating full meals and walking, with help. The Healer and been to see her, and said that she must have been blessed by the gods, as her fast recovery was some kind of miracle. The steady stream of gifts began to slow, and life in Waymoot began to return to normal._

They sprinted through the trees, adrenaline and the joy at having escaped alive fuelling their tired bodies as they ran. Thorin cradled Penelope's frail body in his arms as he ran. Bofur had offered to take her from his aching arms, but he refused. It worried him that she hadn't regained consciousness yet and he wanted to be right there when she did.  
Eventually, Gandalf judged that they had run far enough down the mountain side to stop and catch their breath,and began to count them all.  
"Bifur, Bofur, Fili, Kili, that's twelve. And Bombour. That makes thirteen."  
He glanced at Penelope, and Thorin nodded at him, telling him that she was at least still breathing. How much the wizard knew about her past, he did not know, but Gandalf did not seem overly shocked by the whip wounds on her back. Worried, yes, but shocked that they were there? No.  
Reassured that she was, at least for the moment, somewhere in the region of alright, he turned away.  
"Where's Bilbo? Where's our Hobbit?"  
Thorin, who had been stroking Penelope's red curls away from her face, jumped slightly and glared at the wizard, partly embarrassed that he had been caught doing something so silly, and partly incredulous that he could be thinking of the Halfing at a time like this. Accusations began to fly between the group and the Dwarf King could feel his temper rising.

_She was dead within three days. Penelope had walked in from a morning at the market to find her unconscious on the bed, soaked with sweat and dark bubbles of blood gathering in the corners of her mouth. The Healer had said something about an infection, and something internal, but the point was that there was nothing he could do about it._  
_Penelope didn't sleep, she didn't eat, she sat by her mother's side, willing her to get better. Sometimes she wept, clutching at her hand. Sometimes she screamed at her, demanding that she get better. But most of the time she spent sitting dumbly in a chair by the bedside, staring at her mother's lifeless form, as if by sheer willpower she could make her recover._  
_She must have fallen asleep, sheer exhaustion wearing her down. But as soon as she surfaced from the bottomless pit of sleep, she knew. Her hand was cold. It was the most peaceful she had looked in days. Wherever her mother was now, she was at peace._

_Things seemed to happen very quickly after that, events and people rushing around Penelope in a blur as she sat there, trying to process the fact that her mother was dead. Her father still hadn't returned by the time the funeral took place and as she stood there, on that cold windy day that seemed so out of place for Waymoot, she realised that she had never felt more alone._

_Penelope felt cold. No matter how hot the day, or how much the fire blazed, she was always cold. It was like little shards of ice had wormed their way into her heart and now they were stuck there. She became a recluse, never leaving the house, barely leaving her chair. It was her mother's chair and the cushion smelled of her._  
_Gandalf came to visit. He always knew when he was needed. They barely spoke to each other the whole time he was there, they simply sat together and relished the feeling of not being alone. He was there when her father finally came home._

"...but I will help you take it back if I can."  
Thorin lowered his eyes. He was not really sure what to make of their Hobbit burglar now. There was such honest loyalty in his eyes, surprising when he owed so little to company, and to Thorin.  
Bilbo stepped forwards and looked at Penelope, still curled in Thorin's arms. She was not bleeding anymore but covered in dried blood and moaning in pain, ever so quietly under her breath. Thorin blessed every moan of pain that came out of her perfect lips.  
"Give her to me." Gandalf said gently. The Dwarf looked at him warily but handed her over to him anyway. The old man slung her across his back and tied her down with his cloak, like some twisted grotesque version of a mother with an infant child. His arms were aching but he couldn't look away from her pale face. He wanted, _needed, _to be there when she woke up.

Suddenly, the sound of Wargs howling reached the group through the trees. Thorin sighed. "Out of the frying pan..." he growled.  
"And into the fire." Gandalf finished, eyes shining with worry. "Run."  
"Run!"

_Gandalf had told her Baldin died of a broken heart. He had known as soon as he had entered Waymoot. The Hobbits there had never been overly kind to him, and the pitying looks and murmured condolences had alerted him that something had happened to his family._  
_Their home became like a ghost town. Penelope's father was rarely home, spending the majority of his days at Blossom's grave on the outskirts of the village. Gandalf stayed with them, but no matter what he did the three of them were like ships passing in the night, moving silently around the house and never speaking. When Blossom died, so had the fire in Baldin's heart. The only way to describe it was just 'giving up'. Her father gave up on life. Within a month, he had joined his wife in the ground. Towards the end, he began hallucinating and several times mistook his daughter for his wife. Penelope tried not to let it hurt too much when she saw the disappointment in his eyes when he realised his mistake. At times, she thought he would have preferred it if she had died instead of her mother. But she couldn't hate him for it, most of the time she wished it too._  
_It was only in his very last days that he began to smile again. Perhaps he knew the end was near, perhaps he knew he would be with his wife again._  
_She was sat with him, holding his hand as Gandalf tried to force some kind of soup down him._  
"_No...no...I don't want it!" He roared suddenly, throwing the bowl across the room. Penelope forced her eyebrows to raise. She had found that she had to force any kind of facial expression, she never felt any emotion strongly enough for her face to make it of it's own accord._  
"_Father..."_  
_He turned to her, wild eyed, and held her hand in a firm grip. It was the most animated he had been in days. "Listen to me. Listen. Never forget who you are. Never."_  
_She felt her head move as she nodded. "I won't, Father."_  
_He lifted a frail hand up and gently caressed her cheek, like he used to when she was younger. Penelope was surprised to find that she was crying. She thought she had used up all her tears._  
"_So beautiful..." He said quietly._  
_Then he crumpled, like his soul had flown out of him. And just like that, Penelope Cotton was an orphan. While Gandalf gently covered her father with a blanket and went to get help, she walked, very calmy, into the garden and promptly emptied the contents of her stomach onto the grass._

Gandalf watched in amazement from his unsteady perch in the tree as Bilbo sprinted through the fire to help Thorin, who was caught in the jaws of Azog's Warg. But Dori and Ori were quickly slipping from his staff and Penelope's weight on his back was beginning to get to him.  
But Bilbo's action had started something. The rest of the Dwarves flew from the tree and advanced on Azog. As they did so, Gandalf could see the Eagles flying towards them over the mountain. He breathed a sigh of relief as Ori and Dori landed safely on the back of one. They were safe, at least for the moment.  
One by one, the Eagles dispatched of the Wargs, and the Dwarves, Gandalf and Bilbo, all ran to jump onto one of the Eagles. On and on they flew, further and further from danger but no one was cheering.  
Thorin was unconscious, dangling from an Eagle's claw. Gandalf couldn't see from where they were how severe the damage was, but there was no sign of movement from the Dwarf King.  
Then, behind him, he heard Penelope cough and groan.  
"What's going on?" She croaked.

_The wizard helped her tie her cloak around her neck and adjusted her pack. "There." He said quietly. "I think you're ready to go."_  
_She nodded. "The Blue Mountains."_  
_Her Hobbit Hole was empty. Everything had been cleared out and sold to ensure that she had enough money to get her to her Dwarf relatives. It felt much larger and colder than before, and Penelope suddenly felt very small._  
"_I will be alright, won't I?" She blurted out suddenly. "I mean, I'll be ok?"_  
_Her old friend gently leant down and pressed a kiss on her forehead. "I know you will."_  
_He walked with her to the end of the road, before enfolding her in his arms. She surrendered to the feeling of the hug, realising she might never see him again._  
"_Bye Gandalf." She said, hating how her lip wobbled._  
_He smiled. "Goodbye, Penelope Cotton. Go and be wonderful."_

As soon as they were set down on flat ground, Gandalf rushed over to Thorin, who had been placed gently on a rock by an Eagle.  
"Thorin? Thorin." He said quietly, kneeling over the Dwarf. Behind him, Oin was quickly unstrapping Penelope from his back and making her lay down so he could bandage her back.  
Before anyone else had their feet on the ground, the wizard placed one hand over the Dwarf's eyes and one on Penelope's back and whispered a few words in the Olde Tongue. With a gasp, he felt some life energy leave him, and in the next instant Thorin opened his eyes.  
Penelope was suddenly very aware of everything that was happening. Life shot into her veins again, and she took a deep breath, feeling more alive than she had in months. The rich, ripe smell of the earth made her nostrils sing, while the rock felt wonderfully cold against her cheek. Oin was standing over her, bandaging her back, and placing a mixture on it that dumbed the dull ache. Her shirt lay in useless pile a few feet away. Thankfully her trousers, although covered in blood and dirt, were intact. Oin's bandages wound from the bottom of her shoulder to her lower back and she felt very on display. But then again, it wasn't like she had anything to hide from the company anymore.  
She could hear Thorin and Bilbo talking, and everyone sounded relaxed and cheerful, more than they had in a long time.  
"I think it will heal," She heard Oin say. "In time."  
He helped her to stand and she winced at the pain. Now that she was facing him he began to readjust the bandage on her head. "But no more adventures in the goblin tunnels, please."  
She smiled a tired smile. "I hope that's a promise I can keep."

"You have a lot of explaining to do." She heard someone say. She turned.  
The whole company was looking at her. It was Dwalin who had spoken, and he was looking at her with an expression close to pity.  
Her cheeks burned, there was almost anything she would rather do than discuss this with people that she looked up to. With Thorin.  
"This is why you didn't want us to go through the mountain pass?" Bilbo said and she nodded, staring determinately at her boots.  
"Why didn't you tell us?" Fili asked gently.  
She almost laughed. "How? How was I supposed to bring it up?"  
They were all looking at her bare arms and collar bone, where the old scars from the whip shone white in the evening sun. She felt on display and very uncomfortable and looked at Gandalf for help.  
The wizard cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should return to this topic at a later time. For now, let us just be thankful that everyone is still alive."  
Penelope looked at Thorin. She couldn't help it, he drew her gaze wherever he went.  
"I think I lost your cloak." She said, unsure of what else to say.  
His face cleared suddenly and he laughed, a bright joyous laugh that made her feel like she could fly.  
Striding over to her, the Dwarf swept her up in his arms. As much as she enjoyed it, Penelope couldn't help but let out a cry of pain as his hands pressed against her back. He abruptly put her down, but smiled at her, a smile so bright it was like the sun was shining on her.  
He didn't seem to be able to find the words to say, and Penelope simply squeezed his hands as a thanks. For a brief moment she wondered if he could kiss her, and she wondered if she would mind. But they were surrounded by the company and so they separated (reluctantly, on her part), although he remained close enough for her to feel his presence.

"Look..." she heard Bilbo say, and reluctantly brought her eyes away from Thorin's face to look over the horizon.  
Thorin's hands fell from hers as he walked to the edge of the rock they were standing on. "Erebor. Home."  
She went to stand next to him, looking at the small mountain in the distance, shrouded in mist but still visible. "We're almost there." She whispered.  
"I do believe the worst is behind us." Bilbo said.  
They stood there, basking in the gentle heat of the late afternoon sun and looking over the mountains, to their future.


	15. Chapter 15

_Ok, so…hi! It has been, oh god knows, at least a year (?) since I last updated this story. I don't imagine that any of you were actually waiting on tenterhooks for me to update but on the off chance you were, I'm so sorry that it took so long! I just…uni and life, and you know when you let things slide and it all just goes and yeah…I'm really sorry!_

_But here I am with an update, and hey, at least I finished the first part of the story so there were no cliffhangers there?! Maybe? I don't know...all I know is I was watching The Vicar of Dibley (specifically the one that Richard Armitage, our beloved Thorin, appears in for the first time) and realised wow I really want to write more of Breaking Things. And I haven't wanted to write in general for months so this is a really nice feeling that I've missed! So here we go._

_We're starting The Desolation of Smaug and I'm really excited to see where this takes me. For the first one I had a very clear plan in mind; who Penelope was, what happened to her, how that fits into the story etc. But now I'm kind of just going with what feels right! I know that the main thing however, will be Penelope and Thorin's relationship, and how that goes, combined with Thorin's growing obsession with the Arkenstone and perhaps a dip into Penelope's heritage…? *gives a cheeky shrug*_

_Thank you so much to you if you're reading this, whether you like it or not, thanks for taking a chance on my little story!_

_P.S. I've adapted a quote from one of the early Harry Potter films and used it somewhere in this chapter…see if you can find it ;)_

It was barely dawn; only the faintest glimmers of the orange morning light had managed to break through the heavy cloud covering the sky, so deep it looked almost violet. Penelope shivered slightly in the pre-dawn chill, they had been standing here waiting for Bilbo for god knows how long. Gandalf had sent him to see where Azog and his Wargs were lurking – for they were surely somewhere nearby – and he hadn't returned for hours. She hoped all was well. The Hobbit that travelled with them now was very different to the one that had opened his front door to her all those months ago but she still feared when he was sent off on his own, despite his steadily growing capabilities.  
She stretched slightly, and winced. Her back, though healed from what happened in the goblin tunnels, had started to ache slightly for an hour or so after she woke. The rest of the company found it highly amusing, comparing her to Oin, the oldest in the group, who often complained of his back. She did not think it was so funny and sent a dark glare towards anyone who attempted to make a joke.  
The only other person who did not tease her was Thorin. In fact he was almost the opposite, doing anything he could to make more comfortable. If her pack pulled on her muscles and made her wince he would wordlessly hoist it from her own shoulders and take it himself, and on more than one occasion she had woken to find a warm stone lying next to her, that must have been put by the fire all night. She wasn't used to being treated in this way, and felt very uncomfortable at first, but Gandalf had told her that he suspected Thorin felt guilty about what happened in the goblin tunnels and was now attempting to make up for it. So she had shut her mouth and refrained from saying anything. And she had to admit, it was a nice feeling to know that he had been thinking about her comfort. More than nice.

That was something else that had changed on this journey. When they had begun she hated the sight of him, and had assumed it was mutual. He ignored her and her advice, refused to see her as an equal member of the company and somehow left her furious with every interaction they had, no matter how brief. Then after their encounter with the trolls he had given her some long overdue respect, and even joked with her a little. That, Penelope had decided, was when the problems had begun. It was clear that Thorin was not a Dwarf that was good at handling his emotions, one day he (metaphorically) held her close, the next he pushed her away. She had suspected he was battling with something, perhaps he wasn't used to female friendship, and had left him to deal with that. There was, of course, the incident in Rivendell, but that had been a long time ago and neither of them had mentioned it so Penelope had put it out of her mind.  
Almost unconsciously, she let her eyes drift over his profile in the available light. He was undeniably handsome, gut wrenchingly so. His hair was long and thick and as black as coal, a few strands of silver being the only hint of his age. A regal Dwarven brow sat over eyes that were so blue it sent butterflies into her stomach every time she accidentally caught his eye. A proud nose and thin lips, held up by a strong defined jaw that was covered in a dark beard made Thorin one of the most attractive men she had ever laid eyes on. For that's what he was; a man. Not in terms of race but in the way he spoke, the way he held himself, his confidence. Years ago, before she had started travelling, a few Hobbit boys in Waymoot had taken her fancy, but it was never anything serious and they had never affected her the way he did. She had admitted her own attraction to him a while ago, and although it made her uncomfortable, not being overly familiar with the feeling of desire, she was not a girl, blushing and giggling behind her hand. She was a grown woman, not that much younger than Thorin himself. She had seen and been involved in plenty of awful things, and she could handle this. It was not like anything would come of it, he was the King under the Mountain, his life was ruled by divine purpose, and she was sure she was meant to walk a different path from him. But still…

It had been not long after they had escaped Azog. She had been struggling to untie one of her boots after they had stopped to rest for the night, her wounds still tender despite Gandalf's Life Magic healing them fully. The rest of the Company was too busy preparing food to pay any attention to her and finally with a groan she had given up, and decided to sleep with one boot one.  
"Need some assistance?" She had heard Thorin's voice from somewhere behind her right shoulder had twisted her head around to see him smirking down at her. He had been much more relaxed around her since Azog, freely making conversation and even smiling and laughing with her occasionally.  
"Bloody boot's a menace." She had grumbled, crossing her arms like a petulant child. Thorin had snorted at her behaviour and stepped around to kneel in front of her.  
"You have faced trolls, goblins and Orcs in these past months alone," He had said, picking at the damned knot with surprising dexterity. "How is it that the 'Incomplete Child of Waymoot' cannot handle a simple knot?"  
"How is it that 'The King Under the Mountain' likes to pick on women who are in the middle of a serious dilemma?" She had retorted and he had laughed, looking up at her with a smile so gleaming she had felt her throat constrict. "At least I can take my own boots off." He had said.

Any reply she might have had was lost when she felt his hands circle her calf. Even through her trousers and her boot she could feel the warmth from his skin. Slowly, he dragged her boot down her leg and off her foot. The sensation of the leather moving slowly over her skin, combined with the feel of his hands and the look of concentration (so endearing it was almost absurd) on his face, made the entire experience much more sensual than Penelope was prepared for. She swallowed as she felt something take root in the very pit of her stomach. So this is what attraction feels like, she thought. This could be an inconvenience.  
"There." Thorin said suddenly, throwing the boot on the ground with the other one and standing up. "Don't let Bofur know you couldn't take it off, you'll never hear the end of it from him."  
"As long as he doesn't try to take his boots off around me, I could not care less what he does." She laughed. "No one deserves to be subjected to that smell."  
He chuckled as he walked off and Penelope wiggled her aching feet. The way her mother had described realising she was in love with her father had made her think it was instant at the first meeting, and felt like lightning shooting through your veins. Of course she was no longer a little girl, and had a much more cynical view of the world, but she hadn't expected it to happen so slowly that she was unaware of it. Now she realised, every time she had hugged him, or kissed his cheek, it wasn't an attempt to solidify their friendship, it was because her body was crying out to be close to his, to feel him under her hands. Even now the urge was still there, muted by exhaustion but present. She glanced over at him, stretched out on his sleeping roll. She could wander over there and lie next to him, turn on her side so she was facing him, gently raise herself up and press her lips to his, feel his body under hers…  
Penelope sighed and mentally smacked herself. Don't do anything to compromise the quest, she told herself. He's here for the Arkenstone and the Arkenstone alone, don't get anything twisted in your head Penny.

So, she had handled it, like the adult she was. She still enjoyed their jokes, revelled in the resigned smiles he would send her way when Fili and Kili started acting up, even let her eyes graze over him when she was sure no one else was looking. But anytime her thoughts strayed somewhere they shouldn't, she made herself think of Erebor and what was waiting under it. They might have survived the goblins, but she suspected the hardest part was far from over.

Suddenly, a howl echoed over their heads, piercing the peace of the early morning. Wargs. In one motion the company had armed themselves. They'd managed to evade the pack for a good while, but they were fast, much faster than the Dwarves and steadily they had closed the gap between them. Thorin was growing more and more worried every day, she could sense it. Worried for the safety of the group, worried they might not make it to the Mountain, worried what they would do if Azog found them. He hadn't been sleeping recently, she noticed. Unease made her an early riser, she was always up a good hour or two before the rest of the company and Thorin was always awake before her. She would see him standing on the horizon, always watching for danger. There had been a couple of times when he would return to the camp and they would spend some time speaking quietly to each other before the others awoke. They would speak, not of anything important, their childhoods, what they liked to do, what they didn't like to do. But Penelope's heart was always lighter afterwards.  
Her ears pricked up, she could hear footsteps. Closing her eyes, she breathed in deeply. It was a trick Radagast taught her, to focus on one sense you must dim the others. With her eyesight gone, the sound of footsteps became clearer. It was one person, and they were shuffling, running, coming closer. Bilbo!

On cue, the Hobbit appeared around a small rise in the rocks. "How close is the pack?" Thorin demanded, moving forwards to meet him. Dwalin, the most gifted warrior in the group, moved to the other side of the gap in the rocks, eyes searching for the slightest sign of the enemy.  
"Too close," Bilbo said, stopping to catch his breath. His gentle face was drawn tight with worry. "A couple of leagues, maybe more. But that is not the worst of it…"  
"The Wargs picked up our scent." Dwalin interrupted, like he had expected it. The Hobbit shook his head.  
"Not yet. But they will do. But we have another problem."  
"Did they see you?" Gandalf said, from the back of the group. Penelope personally thought it was a bit rich that a wizard who towered at least three feet over the rest of them was suspicious that a Hobbit couldn't hide himself but she wasn't about to tell him that. "They saw you." He said, when Bilbo didn't answer immediately.  
"No, that's not it." The Hobbit said, catching his breath. Gandalf nodded, visibly relieved, and smiled.  
"What did I tell you? Quiet as a mouse." He said proudly to the rest of the company, who grinned. Bofur clapped Bilbo on the back, but Penelope didn't like the look on his face.  
"Bilbo…" She began, but Gandalf cut across her.  
"Excellent burglar material." The group cheerfully agreed, the danger of the Wargs seemingly forgotten for the moment.  
Bilbo's patience wore thin. "Will you listen, will you _just listen._" He said loudly enough to cut across their chatter. Penelope folded her arms and frowned. Something about where they were just felt off. It wasn't just the Wargs, dawn and clearly broken and the majority of the sky was still dark and overcast. It put her on edge. She felt Thorin move to stand next to her.  
"Do you feel it?" He said quietly and she nodded almost imperceptibly.  
"I feel it."  
"I'm trying to tell you that there is something else out there!" He pointed to the direction he'd just come from, and Thorin sighed. Penelope closed her eyes briefly in resignation. So there was also an unknown being looking for them as well as Azog and his pets. Just fantastic.  
One person who did not seem remotely surprised was Gandalf. "What form did it take?" He said, the sudden drop in his voice the only implication that he was worried.  
She raised her eyebrows. "Don't tell us you knew that something was out there and decided not to tell us."  
He shrugged at her. "I could not be sure whether it would be here or not." He returned his attention to Bilbo. "Like a bear?"  
"Y…yes." He replied, sounding surprised and a little suspicious. "But bigger, much bigger."  
Gandalf gave the smallest nod, like he had expected this, and turned away. Penelope's eyebrows were almost in her hair at this point.  
"You knew about this beast?" Bofur cried indignantly, twisting his hands together in worry. "I say we double back."  
"No." Penelope said at the same time Thorin replied "Then we get run down by a pack of Orcs."  
The group dissolved into murmurs for a brief second before Gandalf turned around again. Penelope didn't like the look on his face at all. "There is a house," he said. "It's not far from here, where we_ might _take refuge."  
"Who's house?" Thorin said, no small amount of scorn in his voice. "Are they friend or foe?"  
"What do you mean we _might_ take refuge?" She chimed in, uncomfortable with the emphasis her old friend had placed on the word.  
"Neither." Gandalf addressed Thorin, then looked at Penelope. "He will help us, or he will kill us."  
"Oh, fantastic." She said.  
"What choice do we have?" Thorin said to her. She shook her head. "None."

The roar of a beast echoed across the mountains yet again, but this time it was far too close. "None." Gandalf agreed, and the company turned on their heel and followed him, either to rest, or to death.

_Reviews, favourites, follows, are always and forever so much appreciated, if you have the time please drop them off at my doorstep, it'll cheer me up when I'm at work tomorrow _

_Side note; Penelope mentions how Thorin hasn't been sleeping well? Yeah that's gonna come into play later on, and you'll see why!_

_Thank you lovelies!_


	16. Chapter 16

_Hello my lovelies! Hope you all are well. I was absolutely blown away by the response to the last chapter – so many favourites and follows! It's truly amazing, thank you all so much. I hope you're enjoying what you've been reading so far. Onto the next chapter!_

_Side note; I've gone through all my old chapters and rewritten them slightly. No major changes to plot anything, just correcting spelling mistakes as and when I saw it, taking out or adding dialogue, and just generally shaking things up! So yeah, any readers who were here when it was first posted, that's just to let you know in case you wanted to reread anything._

_Disclaimer; I own nothing but my character._

They ran. And ran. If the sun's position in the sky was any indication they'd been running for most of the day. They were covering a fair distance, she knew that, but they were in open space now. Their safety was no longer covered by the large boulders and small pathways of the mountain, instead they were sprinting as fast as their legs would carry them over rolling fields and marshland. Any other time, Penelope would have stopped to admire the view, but now she barely gave the flowers a second glance as she ran on and on. Being more petite than the Dwarves, she was faster, but the muscles in her legs were screaming, and only the fear that they were highly visible and therefore in great danger kept her moving.  
Eventually, they entered a dense forest, not unlike the ones that littered the outskirts of the Shire. They had not been dodging through the trees for twenty minutes before they heard another roar, identical to the one from the mountain, but closer. Much, much closer. For a split second the company froze in fear, twisting back to look through the trees. Penelope could see no sign of any Wargs yet but that meant nothing.  
"This way, quickly!" Gandalf roared over the din, the fear in his voice palpable. Without even stopping for breath Bilbo and the Dwarves turned on their heels and chased after the wizard. Except for Bombour, poor sweet silent Bombour, who was frozen to the spot in fear. She looked over her shoulder and was about to go back for him when Thorin grabbed his beard and tugged him around. "Bombour, come on!" She shouted desperately as the Dwarf's feet finally kicked into action and he began to move.  
The trees were beginning to thin around them and in the near distance Penelope could see a circle of trees, protecting a house, a hedge and a gate. To have such a normal and homely looking place this far out in the middle of nowhere seemed unusual, but as this was clearly where Gandalf was leading them she wasn't about to question it. She felt the first trickles of hope in her heart, giving new energy to her body as she sped up, desperate to reach the gate. She wasn't the only one, Bombour was overtaking all the other Dwarves, even Dwalin. She made a mental note to tease him about that later.

By the time they reached the gate, dapples of evening sun were casting an attractive orange glow over everything. But the roar was even closer as they shot through the front yard. It almost looked like a farm, Penelope noted as she leapt over bee houses and rolls of hay. They hit the door in a pile, pushing at it, physically begging it to open. She could see the latch that needed to be lifted but couldn't reach it.  
"Open the door!" Gandalf bellowed, and as Penelope turned to look at him she saw the black monster tear itself out of the trees and sprint towards them, covering impossible distances in seconds. Bilbo was right, the closest animal her scared and weary mind could equate this to was a bear, but she would rather face a thousand bears than this terrifying thing. Panic set in, they needed to open this door or they had seconds left to live. With a yell of frustration and apology, she grabbed Balin's beard and used it to make him bend down so she could clamber onto his shoulders and raise the iron bar locking the door. The wood gave way and they all tumbled into the room. Penelope hit the ground and rolled into a standing position. They were all in and they were all alive, for the moment. But the creature was gaining on them, and the Dwarves weren't going to be able to close the door in time, she could feel it. She ran forward and threw her entire weight against the wood, just as a pair of jaws, larger than any she had ever seen, shoved into the small gap they had left open. She shrieked, involuntarily. This thing could swallow her whole if it was so inclined! Its breath was rancid, like rotting meat and she gagged, trying not to vomit. She was being pushed into the wood by whoever was behind her, everyone was shouting and for a second it felt like pure insanity. Then finally, with one great heave, they managed to shut the door and Dwalin slid the wooden bar into place. The Dwarves' shouting ceased as peace quickly descended in the hut. Penelope was breathing hard, palms flat against the door as she tried to catch her breath. A single bead of sweat rolled down her forehead and off the tip of her nose. They had done it, they were alive. 

"What is that?" Ori gasped, sounding as exhausted as she felt.  
"That is our host." Gandalf replied. The entire company turned to look at him incredulously, Penelope standing between Thorin and Kili. "His name is Baorn. And he is a Skin Changer."  
She was in shock. She had heard of Skin Changers on her travels but they were assumed by almost everybody to be long gone from this world. They had also been known as having notoriously unstable temperaments. She couldn't believe Gandalf had so willingly taken them into danger. Although thinking about it, it did seem to be rather a specialty of his.  
"Sometimes he is a huge black bear," the wizard continued, turning away from them and looking at the house they'd just entered. "Sometimes he's a great strong man. The bear is unpredictable, but the man can be reasoned with."  
Sounds like Thorin, Penelope thought, her eyes flicking over to where he stood. That was the thing about attraction and desire, she had noticed. You never had to make an effort to look for them, or stand near them. Your eyes knew just where they were, as though they had always been aware of their position. More often than not too, she found herself sitting by Thorin, or walking next to him. It was never a conscious decision, but she seemed to have this unspoken desire to be close to him.  
While Gandalf was speaking, the rest of them had begun to spread out and explore their lodgings for the night. Now that the immediate danger had passed, an air of relaxation was begging to spread. Fili and Kili had already claimed the best spots to lay out their bedrolls and Dori was nagging Ori about something meaningless. Everything was large, larger than things were in human society. Whoever this creature was, even in his human form he would tower over the rest of them.  
"However," there was a note of warning in Gandalf's voice now as he continued to talk. "He is not over fond of Dwarves."  
This, Penelope knew, was directed at the more fiery members of their company, who would likely make a bad first impression. She wondered if that included herself. Oin seemed a little offended at the wizard's remarks and she felt a smile tug at her lips when she saw his flattened ear trumpet. It was a wonder he could hear at all.

Ori had managed to momentarily escape Dori's attention and had his ear pressed to the door, listening for signs of the monster. "He's leaving." He told the rest of them in amazement. Dori grabbed his arm. "Come away from there!" He clucked. "It's not natural, none of it. It's obvious, he's under some dark spell." He turned his watery blue eyes on Gandalf suspiciously.  
"Do be sensible Dori." Penelope snapped. "Not much of what we've encountered on this journey could be called natural, and this Shape Changer is about as likely to be as under a dark spell as I am. So unless you'd like to call me unnatural as well I highly suggest you get some rest and stop fear from narrowing your mind."  
"Penelope…" Gandalf said warningly, but she ignored him and strode to the opposite side of the house to lay out her bedroll, temper high. The attitude of some when faced with something they did not immediately know or understand was enough to make her want to punch something. She lay back and stared at the thatched roof, letting the frustration seep out of her veins and be replaced by exhaustion and the luxury of sleeping indoors for the first time in months. Gandalf was issuing orders for the rest of the company to get some rest, and she closed her eyes, focusing on nothing but the feeling of breathing in and out. She should not have snapped at Dori, she was as scared as he was and in times like these the group needed to be harmonious. She would apologise in the morning, she decided.  
She heard footsteps approaching. "I know," she said, keeping her eyes closed, assuming it was Gandalf or Balin coming to scold her. Both of them had a way of reprimanding her so gently often she didn't realise she'd been told off until the conversation was over. "I should not have snapped, but he shouldn't have spoken so thoughtlessly."  
"You are right." Her eyes snapped open at the sound of Thorin's voice. He was standing over her, watching her face with his deep blue eyes. "You spoke thoughtlessly, but so did he. We all of us need to get along if we're to have any hope of making it to the Mountain."  
She sighed and sat up, giving him room to settle on the floor next to her. The Dwarf shrugged off his thick overcoat and spread it out next to her bedroll. He usually preferred to sleep on his own clothing, Penelope suspected he did not want to have to carry the awkward and bulky bedroll. She could see the outline of his body much better when his coat was off and while he was preoccupied with making his bed she let her eyes trail over the visible muscles in his arms, which led to broad shoulders largely hidden behind thick dark hair. He had a round stomach, like all Dwarves, but his waist was unusually slim (for one of the mining race). She could make her hands meet if she wrapped her arms around his waist.  
Thorin turned back to her and she snapped her eyes forward. The rest of the company was also beginning to settle. Night was still an hour or so away but there wasn't much else to do except lay back and relax. Bofur was softly playing a melody on his pipe, next to Bilbo who seemed to be enjoying the opportunity to rest. The rest of them were spread out in a small circle, but she and Thorin sat slightly away from the rest of them, in a secluded corner of the house. It wasn't unusual for her to sleep away from the group, she couldn't stand their blasted snoring. That Thorin was choosing to sleep next to her was something new entirely. She wanted to think on it but wondered to what extent she would read too much into it. This journey had caused them all to become close in odd ways. Bilbo and Bofur would often collect wood for the fire together so they could speak alone, whereas Fili and Kili had discovered a newfound respect for Oin's love of myths and legends. Most nights they would sit and listen to him, enthralled, while Gloin would sit nearby with Dwalin sharpening their swords. Dori had even taken to replaiting Ori's hair every morning after it would come undone during sleep. He had tried to do the same with Nori but the younger Dwarf had threatened to slice his fingers off in the night if he tried. Penelope suspected they were all craving some sense of home, or even affection of some kind.  
"I am seen by many as being 'unnatural'," she told Thorin, gaze sweeping over the group. "It is wrong for Dori to assume this Baorn is too. I've heard tell of the Shape-Changers, it was assumed there were none left. God knows what this creature has been through, who are we to judge him? Dwarves live in caves underground and mine treasure, to him that could be unnatural."  
"You know that we do not consider you an unnatural being, don't you?" Thorin said, and she looked at him. He was watching her, his face the same unreadable mask it always was. She smiled.  
"I know. You all know me now, better than anyone else ever has. I just do not want us to make snap judgements on potential allies. We need all the help we can get on this journey."

_And they did know. A few nights after the escape from Azog, once the horrors of the goblin tunnels had receded slightly in their minds, Penelope had told them all her story. How the path Lord Elrond suggested she take had led straight into the goblin's path, how she had been taken hostage and been beaten and starved and assaulted, all in the name of entertainment. Some of the details had made her feel sick to recount, but she did it anyway. They deserved to know, she reasoned with herself, they were the closest thing she had to a family, and they had all been through hell recently, the very least she could do is be honest with them.  
"But how did you escape?" Ori had asked her, eyes wide.  
"I was being transported from one end of the caves to the other." She said, staring into the fire. "I've no idea why, but as we were crossing one of the bridges, it snapped. It had looked unsafe but the goblins carrying me had gone across anyway. I think the weight of my cage was too much for it. We fell."  
"Weren't you injured at all?" Kili had said.  
She had smiled humourlessly. "The goblins carrying me broke my fall. My arms and legs were thin enough to slide through the bars of the cage so I ran the rest of the way out, likely the same way we escaped them this time. I didn't stop running until daybreak, by which point I was so weak I couldn't carry the weight of my cage. I collapsed somewhere on the road back to Rivendell and would have died there, had an Elf patrol not found me. They took me back to Lord Elrond, who nursed me back to health."  
There was silence once she finished her story. It was clear none of them, including Penelope, really knew what to say.  
"Well," Nori had said eventually. "That explains why you got a room in Rivendell and we had to spend the night outside."  
It was such a ridiculous thing to say that Penelope felt a laugh escape her lips. "You were all offered rooms, but you declined them."  
"What?!" Nori said, turning to look at Dwalin. "I didn't know that! Are you mad? Elven hospitality is famous!"  
Dwalin rolled his eyes, not even bothering to look at Nori as he picked some meat from his teeth. "You're a Dwarf, not an Elf, you have no need of a feather bed. You'd also likely steal anything you could lay your hands on."  
The group exploded into an argument that was only half serious. Penelope watched them, laughing. A weight she didn't realise she'd been carrying seemed to have been partially lifted from her shoulders, and when Thorin had passed her a mug of ale, the tip of his thumb grazing lightly across the back of her hand as he did so, lingering just a little too long, she had flashed him a brilliant smile._

"We have all the people we need." Thorin replied stubbornly and she rolled her eyes.  
"I wish that were true." She sighed. "But I fear we'll encounter plenty more danger before this journey ends."  
"Of course we will." He replied, pinning her down with his eyes. His voice dropped an octave. "There are many who want to see us fail, who would quite happily kill us in our beds. But I know none more equipped to handle these dangers than us. Than you."  
She could feel the heat of his eyes as he looked at her, desperately wanted to say something, but couldn't. Wanted to look away, but couldn't. Wanted to lean in and close the distance between them, but couldn't. She was frozen by his stare. Heat was flaring in her cheeks and her heart was pulsing so loudly she was sure it was audible. In less than two seconds her entire world had shrunk to just the two of them, she could see nothing but him, feel nothing but the heat from his body where he sat next to her, so close and yet not close enough. Desire was flooding through, making her body thrum in an odd, but strangely pleasing way. She opened her mouth, to say what she didn't know. Thorin's eyes dropped to her lips and the flash of want she saw in his face made her stomach curl. He leaned in, and…

_CRASH_

"Did I not tell you that our host was not fond of Dwarves, Master Bombour?! Why then are you attempting to wreck his home before you have been here an hour?"  
Gandalf's furious voice was like a bucket of ice water over them. Penelope jerked, almost shooting away from Thorin in surprise. He, as if on instinct, turned his body away from hers. He was breathing hard, however, and Penelope thought she could see a tinge of red in his cheeks. Without looking at her, he grabbed his coat and strode over to sit with Dwalin and Gloin. Penelope held a hand over her chest, which was heaving as some form of adrenaline raced through her. What, in the name of all that matters, just happened?

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